Grief Bringer
by Treymane
Summary: From the frozen north to Candlekeep, the tale of three Bhaalspawn who struggle to evade pursuers while learning to cope with their own natures.
1. Kyner's Charge

**This is a story of three Bhaalspawn (the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn and two originals) taking place during BG1. Some of the canon characters you can expect to see are Imoen (ok, maybe it's a story of four Bhaalspawn), Kivan, Ajantis and, to a lesser extent, Branwen, Jaheira, and Khalid with a brief cameo by Shar-Teel. There is also an extensive caste of original characters you will meet if you haven't already hit your back button.**

**please read and review, any and all feedback is appreciated (even negative feedback is appreciated as long as it is constructive)**

* * *

_Kyner's Charge_

"In what ways do you believe the taint could manifest itself?" Kyner asked. The old warrior's brow was a maze of lines and the remnant of his long grey hair cascaded from a bald pate. Though Gorion was several years older than Kyner, his years had given him a more patrician bearing than they had the old warrior. Cackling flames from the fireplace beside the table intensified Gorion's silence.

Gorion toked on his pipe before responding, "I was hoping we could do at least a little small talk before cutting to the heart of the matter." Gorion spoke calmly, as if they had only met to discuss the weather.

_Would that I had Gorion's temperament,_ Kyner thought.

Gorion spoke after another uncomfortable silence, "Something has obviously precipitated your question, old friend. out with it."

"It's about Ciara," Kyner began haltingly, "I'm very worried. She has grown so disparately."

"So has Saunder," returned Gorion, "he has shown an affinity for channeling divine power and chosen to become a paladin of Tyr. Ormud, the priest of Oghma dwelling at Candlekeep, has already taught Saunder how to establish his connection with the divine and I have called upon an old friend, I believe you remember Khalid, to teach him how to wield a sword. The Watchers can only teach the boy so much."

Gorion sighed and continued, "I have digressed from your question, of course. You must keep in mind that we hardly chose Keep Noatun and Candlekeep to raise these children so that they could be among other children. We chose these places because they are safe and isolated."

"It's more than that," said Kyner, drawing an unsteady breath, "Ciara, she paints things, impulsively, images of demons that I've never seen or heard of before, and landscapes, dreadful images of hells I don't want to imagine exist."

Gorion dropped his smile. "Do you know why?"

Kyner shook his head, "I don't know. But, it frightens me. So far I've managed to keep her from showing those paintings to anyone else in the keep. The lords of Noatun would certainly cast us out if they were ever seen. I don't know how long I can keep it that way though. Could it be," Kyner had to open his fears to Gorion, "could it be that His blood is awakening in her?"

"Saunder has shown no such signs," Gorion said, his eyes showed that new worries were coming to him, "When did she start these paintings?"

"Only within the past five years," Kyner said, "I'm at a loss as to what I should do about it."

"Don't try to stop it," Gorion said, "repression of any kind may make the taint restless and that is the last thing we want," said Gorion. "We need to consolidate. I have heard rumors of other Bhaalspawn," Gorion grimaced as he said the word, "coming to power. I do not think our wards can be hidden for much longer."

"Other Bhaalspawn?" asked Kyner, alarmed.

"Yes," said Gorion, "the Temple of Bhaal that we assailed was hardly the only one. Similar incidents at other temples set free many others who were meant to be sacrificed. Some of them dreadfully powerful: fire giants, dragons and others."

Kyner was silent, contemplating the implications of what he had just heard.

"You must prepare your ward to leave Keep Noatun," said Gorion, "can she defend herself?"

"I've trained her myself," said Kyner.

"Good," replied Gorion, then before Kyner could speak, "they both have much to learn; regardless of however much we think we may have taught them. I must leave Candlekeep. The situation in Baldur's Gate is growing tense and things are far worse in Tethyr. Hmm . . . "

The fact that Gorion had to think hard for a safe place to go to gave Kyner more cause for worry. "Meet me at Scornubel as soon as you are able. Be careful, and make sure you are well-armed on the road." Gorion stood up and made to leave the private dining room.

"It will be like old times again won't it Gorion?" asked Kyner, and his face seemed to light up.

"It will," said Gorion, "except we're now much older and the stakes are higher." Gorion replied as he left, laughing heartily.


	2. The Road Begins

_The Road Begins_

Kyner left the cabin of the river boat as it emerged from the river that ran through the Dagger Pine Wood and into Lake Gjoll. The lake was small and surrounded by dense, impassible pine woods. Kyner could barely make out the silhouette of Keep Noatun against the sky through the violent torrents of rain. The thick fur cloak he wore seemed inadequate protection against the brutal fall weather of Neifelorn, at the edge of the world, north of even Icewind Dale.

_How will Ciara react to the sudden necessity to leave_, wondered Kyner. A hard, cold wind howled from the forest of pines and snapped against the river boat, carrying the rain with it.

"It will be a hellish winter," said the captain of the river boat when he saw Kyner, "the way the clouds cover the sun you might think it was night."

"Aye," said Kyner. _If nothing else I'll be happy to seek warmer climes. _"What time will you be leaving?" asked Kyner.

The captain paused as a strong gust buffeted against the river boat before answering, "I plan to leave as soon as my cargo is transferred. I certainly don't intend to wait for the lake to freeze over. Probably some time this afternoon." Kyner had to remind himself that it was still morning. "My next destination will be Hreispell. Do you really intend to leave so soon?"

"Indeed," said Kyner, "I have a long road ahead of me and the time of year is not in my favor."

"You've poor timing indeed if you're only now leaving," the captain laughed.

"Some things can't be helped," Kyner replied gruffly.

"Aye," said the captain.

The river boat began to pull up along the docks and the crewmen set to mooring the vessel. There was no real town to speak of surrounding Keep Noatun, only the docks and the keep. Even the servants and the dockmaster had their quarters within the keep. The lords of Noatun were an austere lot and had chosen this location to get away from people. _And I chose this location to get Ciara away from people._

The docks were nearly empty as Kyner descended the gangway, devoid of everything but crates. Lord Fredek always ensured that Noatun was adequately stocked before every winter, since no supplies would be able to get to the Keep once the river froze, as it did every year.

Only one person waited at the docks. _I should have known_, thought Kyner. Ciara was leaning back against one of the crates, swathed in a fur cloak thicker than Kyner's and drenched with rain. Her hood was cast forward but Kyner still could feel her keen gray eyes. Ciara ran forward and Kyner embraced her.

"I'm glad to see you again Kyner," said Ciara. _Funny,_ thought Kyner, _she never once thought I was her father. She always seemed to know._

"You knew I would be back at this time?" asked Kyner. Ciara only smiled. She noticed Kyner's shifting eyes.

"What's wrong?" the girl asked.

"We need to leave," said Kyner.

"Leave . . . the docks?"

"No," said Kyner, and the finality in his voice surprised him, "we need to leave Noatun." The rain intensifies and Kyner looks back to the river boat, as if to ensure it's still there. "And we must leave quickly. Let's get out of this rain."

Kyner had brought Ciara to her room within the keep. 'Take only what you will need,' he had said, 'the road will be long.'

Now Ciara stood alone in her room, the satchel Kyner had told her to fill lay on her bed. _He seems so distant now, not quite the same man who raised me. No, just different, grim, and purposeful._

Ciara set to doing as Kyner had said. He gave the instructions as if he had done so a hundred times before, then Ciara then remembered that Kyner had been a traveler and a soldier long before he had chosen to stay at Noatun. The thought was strange. _What things has he seen? Why choose to stay at this place, at the end of the world?_

* * *

"You're leaving?" asked Count Fredek, lord of Keep Noatun. _News just travels too damnably fast_, thought Kyner. 

"Yes, and I must leave this afternoon."

"But you've only just come back," protested Fredek. Kyner shrugged and continued to ready himself for the journey, packing supplies into his satchels. Fredek sighed, "does this have something to do with that girl." That got Kyner's attention but he did not answer. Fredek divined the answer anyhow.

"I knew she would be the cause of troubles!" the lord exclaimed as he threw his hands into the air.

"My troubles friend," said Kyner, imperturbably, "you need not worry over it."

Kyner turned around when he heard the soft padding of feet, Ciara stood in the doorway, the satchel Kyner had given her weighed down her shoulder, and her countenance betrayed her nervousness. _She'll have to work on that too,_ thought Kyner.

"Am I interrupting something lords?" Ciara asked meekly.

"And you intend to take her on the roads," vented Fredek, "You are not so young as once you were and she is but a girl."

Kyner turned to the count, "I tire of this Lord Fredek, my mind is set and I will not be suaded to stay another night. That is the end of it."

The nobleman was taken aback. Fredek's mouth opened but words failed him and he made a flamboyant gesture of frustration before storming away. Ciara took a step forward into the room to get out of the angry count's way.

"So we really are leaving?" she asked when she felt Fredek was out of earshot.

"So we are," said Kyner, "let me see what you have packed." Ciara set her satchel down on Kyner's bed and he opened the bag to examine its contents. Ciara nearly protested when he pulled out nearly all of her extra clothes but stopped short when she noticed he had removed none of her warm clothing. _He knows what he is doing,_ thought Ciara.

Kyner then opened the large chest at the end of his bed. Ciara had never seen it opened. Inside were swords, belts, pieces of armor, and numerous rings and amulets. Kyner picked a pair of rings and an amulet and gave them to Ciara, "Put these on," he said, "one ring per hand, it doesn't matter which finger."

Ciara put the amulet on first and the air about her felt charged for a moment, but the effect quickly dissipated. She slipped on each of the rings and the air about her felt compressed before returning to equilibrium.

"The necklace will negate most forms of offensive spellcraft and the rings will buffer you from physical harm," explained Kyner, "but remember, you're still mortal." Ciara nodded, wondering who the devices she now wore originally belonged to and why she would need them.

Kyner rummaged through his chest for a time before retrieving a scabbarded sword. Kyner handed the weapon to Ciara. She took it carefully. "It belonged to a friend of mine. Go on, you can take it out. " Kyner said before looking back to the chest. The leather scabbard and hilt were not extraordinary in appearance, but the craftsmanship of both were exceptional. Ciara slid the weapon out of its scabbard. It was a long sword like many of the others Kyner had made her practice with, but with a much lighter and narrower blade. When the weapon was free of its scabbard Ciara realized how much lighter. A single fuller ran down half the length of the blade, which tapered sharply at its end.

"That sword is the work of the smith Asentzio of Delthuntle, he called it Aitana. The balance is perfect and you should find the weight to your liking."

"This friend of yours who had the blade before," Ciara began, "did–"

"She was alive when she gave me the weapon, gods willing she still is."

"Who was she?" Ciara asked.

"She's part of a past long before you were in my life, and now half a world away."

Ciara was silent as Kyner armed himself in the things he had pulled from his chest. He first put on an iron breastplate and shoulder pauldrons, then girt himself with a belt much thicker than the one he had given Ciara. Next he began retrieving the weapons themselves: a great sword and its baldric, a long sword and an axe that seemed weighted for throwing. The hilt of Kyner's great sword reached above the top of his fur cloak once he put it on.

"Do any of your weapons have names?" asked Ciara.

"The great sword is called Issgar, the others have no names," Kyner then put on a second belt with pouches containing potions and pulled on his gauntlets. At last he took up his two satchels and gave Ciara her own.

Ciara was struck by how war-like Kyner had suddenly become. She was amazed he did not fall under the weight of his own gear. Instead of appearing weighed down, Kyner appeared stronger, purposeful.

"Come," said Kyner with a smile, "it's past time you saw something of the world."


	3. A Cold Awakening

_A Cold Awakening_

His armor was blacker than the night and he was a giant, nearly as tall as the ogres who had been destroyed by Gorion's magic just moments ago. Numerous spikes and blades adorned his armor and four horns extended from his helm while a maw of teeth framed his face. But more blood chilling were his eyes, burning yellow with infernal flame.

The armored man spared a glance at each of his fallen henchmen and laughed a cold, humorless laugh. The fallen were ogres spanning more than nine feet tall, their burned carcasses lay at the old wizard's feet with their cudgels still held tightly. Gorion stood his ground, his weathered face implacable.

The armored man began to stride toward Gorion and the wizard unleashed a torrent of fiery bolts from his fingertips. The lances of flame seemed to glance off the dark figure's armor and his laughter rose in intensity as he drew a broad-bladed sword. Gorion unleashed still more attacks but the armored man drew resolutely closer, cackling as he came.

Too soon, the armored man was upon the wizard and swung his massive sword with a single hand, his infernal eyes shining with triumph.

Saunder shrunk further beneath the brush he was hiding behind, and felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

* * *

He awoke with a start and swung blindly. Saunder felt his fist hit something and there was a cry of surprise followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground soon thereafter. The young paladin staggered to his feet, eyes adjusting slowly to the morning light, and looked down at the figure as it turned over onto its back.

"Imoen!" Saunder cried as he knelt down by his old friend, "damned foolish of me." Saunder quickly recalled the events of the previous night: seeing Gorion slain and his flight thereafter, finding Imoen and regaining some sense of security, then running for most of the rest of the night until his adrenaline ran out and fatigue set in.

Imoen groaned and murmured something unintelligible. Saunder placed his right hand over her bleeding lip. _My god Tyr, hear my prayer and aid my friend._ Saunder removed his hand from Imoen's face.

The bleeding had stopped and Saunder wiped off what blood remained with the sleeve of his tunic. "Imoen," Saunder tried again. The girl blinked a few times and recognition seeped into her eyes as she regained her surroundings. "I'm sorry I hit you," Saunder began, "I thought–"

"Last time I ever try to wake you up," Imoen interrupted, but her ire was fleeting, "you must have been having a nightmare about him. The one in the black armor with the . . . the yellow eyes."

Saunder nodded and a leaden weight settled in his chest. He paused for a time before speaking, "I can't leave Gorion the way he was cut down."

"He might be waiting for you," Imoen said, her eyes wide with fear.

"I will not leave him to rot."

"Then I'm coming with you," Imoen said determinedly.

"Please Imoen, if you go back to Candlekeep now they may still let you back in."

"You know better than that Saunder," Imoen returned, "you know how strict those Watchers are about letting people in. Besides, Puff-Guts would never let me out of his sight again."

Saunder sighed, "You're right Im. Just please be ready to run if there's an ambush." Saunder loosed his sword in its scabbard.

Imoen nodded.

* * *

Neither Saunder nor Imoen could recall exactly where Gorion had fallen and the woods looked different in daylight than they had during the night. At length they came across the clearing and found that Gorion still lay where he had been cut down the night before. Saunder broke down to his knees at the sight of Gorion's head, hanging onto his neck by a few pieces of flesh. When Saunder looked again he saw that no carrion feeders had yet defiled his foster-father's body. "Thank you, Tyr," Saunder prayed weakly as he stood.

"Are you going to bury him?" asked Imoen.

"We don't have the implements to dig," Saunder replied, "we'll have to build a cairn." Imoen nodded nervously. "Stay here and make sure Gorion's body stays untouched. I'll look for some rocks." Saunder emptied many of the larger items from his satchel and began his search, which proved to be more frustrating than Saunder had expected.

At length, Saunder came upon a ridge with stones of numerous sizes strewn beneath it. Saunder bent over and began placing some of the larger rocks into his satchel. Then he felt the edge of a blade pressed against his neck.

"That's a good lad, no moving now, and no noise neither," the voice was distinctly female, but rough and hoarse. "Now I'm going to give you a few choices. You can scream, and I'll cut your throat like a pig's. Or I can let you go. After that you can either run, and when I catch you I'll gut you like a cur, or you can draw that little sword of yours and we let the gods decide who walks away."

Saunder made no sound and after a moment the woman withdrew the blade from his neck. Saunder stood up and turned to face the woman. She was taller than Saunder by a few inches and built like a blacksmith. A conical helmet obscured most of her face, a mail shirt hung from her shoulders, and she confidently held a bastard sword. The woman bared her teeth in something that could have been mistaken for a smile and drew back to give Saunder some room.

Saunder drew his long sword and stepped away from the ridge, to ensure he would not be backed into it. The woman watched Saunder and raised her sword above her shoulders with the blade pointed at Saunder.

_Tyr, guide my sword, _Saunder prayed silently, and held his weapon in a guard close to his chest. The woman stepped forward and brought her weapon down in a descending blow. Saunder parried the attack on his cross guard but his aggressor quickly withdrew her sword and brought it around on the other side of Saunder's guard. The young paladin withdrew his leg before the woman's bastard sword could lop it off.

Saunder backed away and cursed himself for not pressing his advantage when the woman's guard was low. She started forward again, brandishing her sword and bringing it around in a wide slash. Saunder met her swing with his own sword but the woman's cut was stronger and pushed Saunder's blade away. With her own weapon inside Saunder's guard, the woman bashed Saunder's sternum with the iron pommel of her sword. Saunder lost his grip on his weapon as he fell heavily and the wind was knocked out of him.

"Men are weak," the woman muttered as she stood over Saunder, her sword poised, "tell whatever god you pray to that Shar-Teel–" Saunder heard the snap of a bowstring and seconds later an arrow was protruding from the woman's, Shar-Teel's, gut. Shar-Teel hunched over in pain.

Seeing his opportunity, Saunder snatched his sword from where it lay beside him and swung the weapon. Blood splattered from Shar-Teel's throat and onto Saunder's leather jerkin. The warrior-woman collapsed slowly, eyes frozen in surprise. Saunder rolled out of the way before the body could fall on him.

"Wench!" Saunder shouted at the corpse, as he kicked it, "the nine hells take you!"

"Saunder . . ."

Saunder stopped, forced himself to calm down, and sheathed his sword. After taking a moment to compose himself, Saunder turned to face Imoen, smiling wanly, "It's a good thing you never listen to me. You saved my life, Im." Saunder looked down to Shar-Teel's corpse and shook his head. _What was that foolishness? No corpse deserves defilement._

"We should leave now," said Imoen, still holding her bow.

Saunder shook his head and looked at the rocks arrayed below the ridge. _There should be enough,_ he thought. "No," he replied resolutely, and looked again at Shar-Teel's corpse, "now we have two cairns to build."

* * *

Saunder stood by the cairn under which he had lain Gorion, near where he had fallen. Shar-Teel's cairn had been built just by the ridge.

"Now can we go?" asked Imoen, "there may be more of them."

"You're right," Saunder conceded. Imoen had become increasingly agitated with every minute. Saunder looked down the path that would lead back to Candlekeep. "Without Gorion, the Gatewarden will not let us pass."

"As if I hadn't realized that," Imoen said, "Did Gorion have a destination in mind?"

"He did," said Saunder, "he said we would meet friends of his at the Friendly Arm Inn, but there may be another ambush there."

"What if he was only after Gorion? What if the woman who ambushed you at the ridge was only a lone brigand?"

"He was after me," Saunder said in a voice thick with regret, casting another glance at Gorion's cairn, "he told Gorion to give _me_ to him. If he knew to find us on this path, maybe he knows about the Friendly Arm Inn as well. We should go south. Maybe we won't be expected that way."

Imoen looked at Saunder questioningly.

"It's not much of a plan but it's a start," Saunder shrugged, "At least I've enough coin to keep us warm and fed for a while."


	4. A World of Walls

_A World of Walls_

"When are you going to tell me why we've left so suddenly?" Ciara was growing anxious, and the cramped quarters of their cabin in the river boat did nothing to allay her misgivings. Kyner had been poring over old maps he had retrieved from his satchel, he still wore the pieces of armor he had taken from his chest at Keep Noatun and a pair of spectacles donned his brow.

Kyner set the map down and took off his spectacles. "You do deserve an explanation, don't you?" Kyner laughed faintly, mirthlessly, "the world is changing, and I fear Keep Noatun is no longer safe for us."

"What do you mean?" asked Ciara, growing flustered, "what has changed?"

Kyner opened his mouth to answer when the river boat rocked violently, scattering Kyner's maps and the contents of both their satchels.

"What was that?" asked Ciara.

"A collision," said Kyner as he took his weapons belt and made for the cabin's exit fastening the belt on as he went, "take your sword and follow me."

Ciara shook her head as she snatched up Aitana and a cloak, noticing only then that Kyner had left his behind.

* * *

Ciara stepped onto the deck of the river boat. She saw Kyner standing with the captain of the river boat at the bow. The rain was still falling in torrents but that seemed not to have phased Kyner. When Ciara reached the bow she discovered what it was that the boat had collided into. The river had iced over right in front of them.

"I've never known anything like this to happen," said the captain, "the river shouldn't freeze for another two months."

"This is no natural occurrence," said Kyner, "Get your people off the deck."

"What the devil are you talking about?" asked the captain.

"Just do it." A volley of arrows rained down on the ship as Kyner said those words. Ciara was surprised enough that she didn't immediately notice that Kyner had leapt off the bow of the boat, in the direction the arrows had come from.

Kyner was glad that the ice did not give way as he landed heavily on it. Squinting, the old warrior could barely make out the forms of three cloaked archers through the descending rain. Kyner pulled his axe from his belt and ran forward to see the archers, there only appeared to be three of them, nocking their arrows for another volley.

Kyner hurled his axe at the archer who was farthest to the right and ran towards the next archer, drawing his long sword. The swift thud of metal against flesh and the sound of a collapsing body told Kyner the axe had struck its target. He heard the whoosh of the enchanted axe returning to him and held out his hand without turning or stopping. He closed his fingers around the axe's grip when he felt the handle strike his palm.

The archer Kyner was approaching dropped his bow to draw a narrow bladed scimitar. Kyner swung with his axe. The archer brought his sword up to parry but Kyner hooked the man's sword in the axe's notch, between blade and spike. With his opponent's weapon trapped, Kyner ran the archer through with his long sword. As Kyner withdrew his sword the archer sagged to his knees and his cowl fell backward, revealing pointed ears and a fair face. _Elves._

Kyner faced the final archer as he loosed an arrow. The arrow glanced off Kyner's breastplate and the old warrior was glad he had not been turned his body toward the archer, or else the arrow would certainly have penetrated the breastplate. Kyner hurled his axe and it did not glance off the archer's studded leather jerkin. The axe returned to Kyner's grip drenched in gore, as if to prove that point.

Footsteps drew Kyner's attention and he whirled about to see Ciara had joined him. She held out the cloak Kyner had left behind. "I thought you might want this," she said. Kyner nodded and took the cloak, his tunic and trousers were already drenched from the continuous downpour.

Just then an explosion of sound and light further down the frozen river caught the attention of the two, plainly visible even through the thick curtain of rain. Four orbs of intense red light streaked from the darkness and Ciara felt that they were intent upon her. The sheer heat of those orbs threatened to overwhelm her and as they drew closer. Ciara felt her skin crawling, she thought of running but knew the effort would be vain.

Then, as the orbs were about to crash into her, they fizzled out and died and the girl remembered the amulet Kyner had given her. _And I had thought they were only a precaution._ _What else will I prove to be wrong about?_

Kyner was returning. His long sword was drawn and gored. "You're unhurt, Ciara?" he asked. Ciara nodded. "That was a mage, only a noviciate though. Of course, I wouldn't want to test that amulet of yours against a much better spellcaster." Kyner wiped the gore from his blade irreverently on one of the elves' cloaks. "Come on," he said, "without the mage to sustain it, this ice will soon lose its strength. It should be weak enough to break through in less than an hour. Besides, it's colder than Cania out here."

* * *

Again they sat in their small cabin. Kyner showed no signs that he had just been out in torrential rain, and without a cloak for most of the time. Ciara still shivered despite having worn her fur cloak since departing Noatun.

"Now," began Kyner as he sunk down onto his cot–the room had no chairs, "I was saying that Noatun is no longer safe. Those elves we just met are an example of what I'm talking about." Kyner leaned forward as he continued, "powerful warlords are rising and more will come."

"Why now?" asked Ciara.

"Because a special group of individuals is coming of age. Do you recall much of your histories?"

Ciara shook her head. Kyner was hoping to avoid a history lecture but it seemed inevitable.

Kyner sighed, "I'm going to tell this as briefly as possible. During what we now call the Time of Troubles all gods, save for Helm, were cast down by Ao. As you can imagine, this did nothing to quell differences between the gods. Many mortals even aspired to deification. One of these was Bhaal, an assassin. He and two others usurped power from the god Jergal." Kyner could see Ciara was rapidly losing attention and tried to speed up.

"Bhaal became the god of murder. He was killed afterwards by another mortal, Cyric. But he knew of his own impending death. In a bid to resurrect himself, Bhaal had a number of children by mortal mothers. You were one of them."

Ciara's countenance was one of shock mingled with disbelief.

"I know–" Kyner began but stopped, "no . . . I don't know how you feel." Ciara stared blankly ahead. "I'm sorry, Ciara," he said, "I'll give you some time. When you're ready, I'll tell you more."

* * *

Kyner had been gone for nearly twenty minutes when Ciara finally moved, a fast and certain movement. She practically ripped open her satchel and pulled out the paintings she had made, the ones that had been small enough to fit into the satchel anyhow.

For Ciara, painting had always been a source of liberation. But she rarely remembered the act of painting, and when she was finished she would always put away the paintings without really looking at them. Now she did, and the images chilled her.

Fiends with gaping maws weighed forward by their own claws devouring brave warriors and children. Paintings of scores of fiends tearing at the flesh of weak humans, elves, dwarves, and nearly any species that walked the world. Powerful Baalors smiting righteous paladins and twisting apart their agonized bodies. And...

Ciara stopped at the next painting. A devil more hellish than any of the others forcing itself upon women of dozens of races. Some looked like they may have been willing, some not. But all of them looked in pain.

_Surely this is the stuff that would pollute the mind of a Daughter of Murder._ Ciara shoved the small canvases back into her satchel and tied it shut.

_And I felt nothing when she had watched Kyner kill the elves. Absolutely nothing. Isn't a person supposed to feel some kind of shock when she first sees death or bloodshed?_

* * *

Hours later Ciara heard the rapping of fingers on the door. She slowly stood and walked to the door. As she had expected Kyner stood on the other side. But he seemed different. His eyes were brighter than before.

"Come," he said, "I want you to see this."

Ciara followed Kyner back onto the deck of the river boat. She stopped at the door, and suddenly felt small. Kyner took her hand and led her to the bow.

"All your years," he began, "I did a terrible thing to you thinking I was protecting you."

Ciara took in the broad vista of the landscape as the river boat breached the edge of the guardian forest that surrounded Keep Noatun. The far mountains capped with snow, the broadening river winding into the distance like a snake digging into the wide plains. It seemed that the rains had passed so that Ciara could take her first look at a world without walls of stone or wood or trees. Ciara was convinced this would be the most beautiful sight she would ever see.

"I kept you cooped up in that damnable castle. I had taken for granted all the things I have seen. Things I now want you to see." Kyner turned his gaze to Ciara.

"The world is dangerous," he said, "but there are always moments of beauty," the old man smiled.


	5. Forsaken

_Forsaken_

Sadira stood on the balcony of her husband Bahram's apartment. Bahram was an affluent merchant and thus a very respectable man in Cormyr. Sadira enjoyed the view that the tall building provided and could certainly see the broad Lake of Dragons and the towering Storm Horn Mountains much better from this apartment than she could in her old home.

Sadira had always found it strange when she was young. She still remembered other children telling her that she was not the child of the parents she had grown up with. She had cried then, and when she had returned home and asked her mother if she had been adopted her mother had slapped her and demanded due respect then told her never to speak of foolish things again, never answering the question.

_Why do these questions ail me now? I am nearly twenty years old. Not some stupid child. I am even married to a respectable man. True, he may be thirty years older than me but he is respectable and has brought respect to my family._

_Why should you care about your family's respectability?_

_Quiet yourself!_

_After all, they were in quite a hurry to marry you off._

_Damn you._

_Damn me? I'm the only one who wants to see you rise above your pathetic state. Your husband, your family, they only want you chained down so they can use you. You can be so much more. _

_I am a simple woman; the wife of a successful merchant._

_You define yourself by what others call you? What kind of a life is that? Don't you want anything for yourself? Are you too weak to even want? You _know_ what you want to do._

_What are you talking about?_

Silence.

"What are you doing woman? Get off that balcony and inside!"The coarse voice was unmistakably Bahram's.

Sadira left the balcony and steadily walked inside. Bahram was standing there, a large bearded man for whom every movement seemed to be a tremendous effort.

"Are you daft woman? Shut the door. You haven't even set dinner have you?"

"No, I thought you were dining with your contemporaries tonight," Sadira responded meekly.

"Stupid bitch," muttered Bahram as he turned his back on Sadira and walked to the door.

He paused before he left the apartment and exhaled and inhaled heavily both to catch Sadira's attention and obtain the necessary wind to speak, "I must say I'm rather glad you forgot to fix something. Your cooking has never failed to embarrass me in front of _my_ contemporaries. I will dine out this evening. But it seems you have work to do here. My mother would be embarrassed to even live in this messy place, let alone entertain guests."

Sadira stood in the same place for a long time, feeling empty. At length, she walked over to the kitchen but didn't fix anything. She couldn't bring herself to be interested in the various exotic foods and fine spices that Bahram's station afforded him. Sadira found the cutlery to be the only thing of interest in the kitchen. She examined each knife and found them all to be clumsy, awkward instruments.

Sadira left the knives out as she left the kitchen and walked into Bahram's office, fully aware that her husband had told her many times not to enter it. The office was small but elegant with wooden paneled walls. Bahram's desk was covered with numerous papers but remained immaculately organized. Sadira eyed the jeweled khukuri knife that hung above the desk and took it down.

* * *

Bahram entered the apartment awkwardly; he was drunk. Sadira smiled, and the voice told her it would be easy. It was not long before Sadira was on the bed and underneath Bahram. Her moment came when the fool was still fumbling with his trousers.

Sadira slid her hand underneath the pillow to grip the jeweled khukuri hilt and brought the weapon out of its hiding place in a slash that severed Bahram from elbow to hip. Sadira scurried to the side of the bed as Bahram spilled his innards on the white linen and fell on top of them. Sadira didn't know how many times she hacked at the dying and finally dead man before she grew tired of the exercise.

_You are worthy_, the voice echoed in Sadira's head, but she barely heard it.

Eventually, Sadira moved down onto the settee at the foot of the bed, seemingly unaware of the gore that matted her hair and stained her fine dress, a gift to her from one of Bahram's trading partners, a man from Marsember. She had even been unaware of Bahram's screams.

Sadira realized her lack of discretion when she heard a fist banging on her bedroom door and darted soundlessly to a dark corner of the room, which was only lit by the outside street lights.

At length the guardsmen bashed the lock and the door flung open. One of the guardsmen stepped through the door, a truncheon in his hand and started toward the bed where Bahram lay facedown. When he reached him the guard turned over Bahram's body and recoiled when he saw Bahram's insides strewn across the sheets, "well it looks like that old woman next door didn't call us for nothing this time."

"Who do you think did it?" asked the other guardsman, who had begun to walk into the room, his truncheon was still girt at his side.

"Jealous wife maybe? From what I've heard this Bahram has–or had rather–a penchant for sleeping around."

"Do you think she might still be here?"

"Nah, she probably fled some–"

"Hold on," said the second guardsman, "do you smell that?"

"I don't smell anything but a dead man."

"I could have sworn I smelled perfume," the guardsman began to draw his truncheon as he scanned the room.

_You can't hide for long now._

Sadira surged out of the cover of darkness and delivered a hack with her khukuri that dug deeply into the nearest guardsman's shoulder and a second swing that tore into his side before shoving him out of the way. The other guardsman raised his cudgel but Sadira slashed the man's arm off before he could bring it down and the man stumbled backwards into a bedpost.

Sadira raised the khukuri to cleave the guardsman's head open.

"Please, Ilmater no," the man whimpered as his shoulders sagged.

_Slay him._

What was left of the guardsman's strength failed him and he collapsed to the floor.

Sadira lowered the khukuri and ran from the apartment.

_What am I doing? _Sadira asked herself as she descended the stair to the streets.

_What you were meant to do, _the steely voice responded. Sadira tried to ignore it.

When Sadira reached the street she stood still for a moment, not knowing which way to turn. Finally Sadira chose the only direction she could think of.

* * *

Sadira had not paused on her way to the Temple of Lathander but had taken several detours to avoid guardsmen. The doors were open and she passed through them, casting quick glances in every direction as she entered the high-domed temple. Sadira felt cold and numb even though the temple remained suffused with warm light, and hugged herself tightly.

The voice that had been admonishing her the entire way to the temple was subdued to a murmur.

Sadira walked the length of the empty temple to the altar that lay beneath a tall statue of the Morning Lord. As she walked toward the altar each step became more labored than the last, until finally Sadira fell to her knees many yards from the altar. Sadira raised her eyes timidly to the statue of Lathander.

"Will you not let your child pray at your altar?"

"What ails you child?" Sadira heard a voice ask from behind.

Startled, Sadira shot to her feet and whirled about to see the kind, time-weathered face of Dawnmaster Edrigu, the man who presided over this temple. The priest looked pained when he saw the blood that soiled Sadira's dress and matted her hair.

"What foul matter has touched you?" he asked as he drew closer.

"I have failed to keep the teachings of the Morninglord in my heart and fallen victim to my demons," Sadira said, her eyes brimming with tears, "I don't know what to do."

Edrigu stood placidly for a moment, calmly examining Sadira before speaking sadly, "Allow me to bestow a blessing of the Morninglord upon you. You have much to atone for, but the Morninglord will aid you if you believe."

Sadira lowered her head as Edrigu spoke his blessing in a low chant. But there was something about his voice that was wrong. Sadira opened her mouth to shout but the Dawnmaster released his spell and Sadira felt herself entrapped by an invisible cage, her mouth frozen in a soundless scream, unable to move, nor even to speak or blink.

"You may come out now," the Dawnmaster said, his tone melancholy. A half-dozen armored guardsmen and a pair of temple paladins came out of hiding. Edrigu faced someone outside of Sadira's vision. "I do not think it would be best for you to apprehend her," he said.

"She killed her own husband and wounded two of my men," responded a gruff voice, "do you really expect me to just let her go?"

_Gods, they're going to kill me!_

"Absolutely not. But this child is sick, I can see that she is plagued with darkness."

_I can get you out of this._

"This _woman_ killed a man and by law will receive punishment in kind. You will be compensated for your troubles and that is the end of it."

_No!_

"I implore you sergeant, allow me to keep her for a time. I can help her. I can bring her back to the light. I know Sadira, she is not an evil–"

_Do you really think this priest can help you?_

"That's enough words priest. I'm following orders. If you want to dispute me feel free to take it up with the justices."

"You will probably have executed her by then."

_Please help me._

"That isn't my problem and I don't see how it's yours either."

_I knew you would come to your senses._

A deafening explosion shook the temple. Edrigu fell to the ground and blacked out for a moment. Slowly, he regained his senses and sat up.

"Are you hurt?" asked a temple paladin who stood over Edrigu, lending his arm. Edrigu took it and the paladin, Adiran by his voice, helped the priest to his feet. Sadira no longer stood where Edrigu had cast the hold spell on her. The Dawnmaster sighed. The sergeant of the guardsmen stood in the center of the temple, shouting at his men to find the escaped woman.

"Rally all of our brothers," Edrigu told the paladin as he leaned on his shoulder, "and find Sadira. It is imperative that we find her before the city authorities do," Edrigu freed himself from the paladin's shoulder and forced himself to stand up straight, "go now, and make haste."

"Yes, Dawnmaster," the paladin responded curtly, and hurried off to carry out his instructions.

"I pray," muttered Edrigu, "that I am wrong about her."

But when Edrigu looked at the fragments of the statue of Lathander that were strewn about the temple, and the cloven altar, he was all too certain that he was right.


	6. Trespass

_Trespass_

A change had come over Ciara, and Kyner was glad for it. He smiled as he watched the girl from the stern of the boat. Since the rains had passed, she had made it her habit to spend most of her time above deck as the river boat progressed south. Had Kyner known how much Ciara craved the open horizon and the free air he would have never have cooped her up has he had. _Then again,_ he thought grimly_, I never asked_.

Kyner looked past Ciara and to the southwest, then he stopped smiling. The grassy hills of Jutonfar loomed over the river there. They would pass very close.

On an ordinary journey Kyner never would have worried about the gnolls that inhabited the Jutonfar hills but he had his ward with him now. _She must learn to defend himself,_ Kyner reminded himself_, the gods know I want that girl to see no harm but she must learn_.

The worst part, Kyner knew, was that the gnolls became increasingly desperate as winter drew near. They plundered whatever passing ships they could for food. The winter was drawing on quickly. _It's only a matter of time_. Then Kyner remembered that gnolls ate human flesh and–if need be–each other.

* * *

Kyner tried to keep an eye on Ciara at all times as the river boat drew closer to the Jutonfar hills, and he berated her whenever he found her not carrying her weapons. _She still thinks she can get through this and not kill anything,_ Kyner thought sadly.

When the river boat passed under the shadows of the Jutonfar hills Kyner encouraged Ciara to stay below deck and stayed on deck himself nearly all day and night. He realized that, although old, he was still quite tireless when need arose.

The inevitable happened on the second day as they were passing the Jutonfar hills. A bolt of lightning arced from a clear sky to strike the rudder and the river boat shuddered. Kyner took the axe from his belt and began scanning the river banks for enemies. They showed themselves soon enough, standing from behind dying shrubs, half-man and half-hyena, each of them over seven feet tall.

They charged forward, bounding toward the river boat as it floundered helplessly toward the shore. Kyner hurled his axe at the gnoll leading the charge and the creature let out a fearsome howl as it fell forward into the river. Water and blood mingled for what would not be the last time today.

Crewmen scrambled to find what weapons they could as the river boat beached on the wrong side of the river and gnolls began to climb aboard. Kyner had no words of encouragement to offer the crew. He knew it would be a slaughter.

The boatswain charged toward the first gnoll to clamber aboard. Short sword in hand, he showed no fear. That gnoll impaled the boatswain on the spike of his halberd before he had even closed in, then withdrew his weapon and clove the boatswain's chest open with the weapon's blade. Then the gnoll made a horrible sound that must have passed for laughter among gnolls.

Kyner shook his head and hefted Issgar, the great sword. The other crewmen, including the captain, tried to make themselves seem as small as possible behind Kyner. More gnolls began to climb aboard the river boat.

A trio of gnolls walked forward as one, their heavy boots thudding on the deck and Kyner could see the hands of more reach up onto the ship. Kyner shrugged off his cloak and moved forward to meet them. The one in the center laughed as he swung his halberd.

Kyner ducked beneath the swing and thrust the last two feet of his greatsword through the gnoll's gut. Kyner withdrew his sword and pushed the gnoll backward onto the halberd spike of one of his fellows. Another made to skewer Kyner, but the warrior brought his weapon around in an arc that clove the gnoll's halberd in two and then back again to hew off its leg. More gnolls climbed aboard behind Kyner and took the fight to the crewmen who had been using Kyner as a shield. Kyner saw a gnoll attempting to climb up the side of the boat and hacked at it's hamstring. When the animal fell writhing to the deck Kyner cleaved apart its skull.

Spinning about, Kyner saw a gnoll bringing its two-handed sword down and raised his sword above his head to parry the attack, then sidestepped the gnoll and slashed at the beast, a cut that tore through leather jerkin and spilled the gnoll's intestines onto the deck. When the beast had fallen Kyner noticed a small wand hanging from its belt and took it. _Good,_ thought Kyner when he recognized the design of the wand_, if they had a shaman with them things might have gotten really messy_. Kyner stowed the wand quickly enough to sidestep the heavy flail ball that would have reduced his head to nothing more than bloody pulp and did just that to the flail's owner.

* * *

Ciara exited her cabin when she heard the sudden bolt of lightning and had a feeling that something was wrong. When she heard the screaming and the ring of steel on steel–as well as the thuds of steel on flesh–she knew something was wrong and quickened her pace. She opened the door to the short staircase that led up to the deck and, on reaching the top, saw a number of hyena-like humanoids at least seven feet tall making sport of the crew. She thought she saw Kyner further down the deck, surrounded by the creatures, but _he_ seemed to be making sport of them.

Without thinking, Ciara drew the sword Kyner had given her and walked to the closest gnoll. Ciara saw the beast hack off a leg from the crewman it had been fighting with a sword bearing a heavily curved and broad blade, and then split the man from scalp to navel. The gnoll kicked over the corpse and turned its stare to Ciara, saliva dripping from between its long, bared teeth.

Ciara thought she should have felt frozen by the hungry stare of the creature but she felt no fear. The creature made a cackling noise as it slowly, confidently approached Ciara. It did not raise its weapon, thinking the girl defenseless. Ciara felt coldly amused as she lunged forward and sliced at the creature.

It was a clumsy, shallow cut across the thing's chest. _Kyner would be disappointed,_ she thought. Ciara expected the gnoll to ignore the wound but instead the creature let out a wail of agony and backed away from Ciara, clutching its side as if there were some burning pain there. It seemed to hesitate before making a reckless charge and hacking downward. Ciara sidestepped the gnoll's sword and made a short chop that clove the gnoll's sword-arm off while it was overextended from the lunge. As the gnoll tried to back away Ciara imapled the creature and twisted her sword. Her blade went deep and Ciara thought she could feel the ribs of the creature's chest ripping as she twisted her weapon and then brought it out of the gnoll.

The creature fell onto its back and tried to back away from Ciara, its eyes were filled with animal fright as it looked at her and then relief as it died. Ciara was fascinated.

The girl heard heavy footsteps behind her and sliced as she wheeled about. The creature spilled all the organs once contained in its chest cavity onto the deck as it collapsed. Ciara watched its eyes: fright, relief, then nothing.

There was a loud thud as Kyner dispatched the final creature and its massive carcass fell. Ciara looked away from the corpse of the thing she had just killed to see that Kyner was making his way toward her. More crewmen were on the ground than were standing.

When he stood before her, Kyner examined her grimly, as if looking at a totally different person. Ciara seemed distant, even to herself. Kyner checked Ciara for wounds before he spoke.

"How many?" was all he asked.

"Two," said Ciara. Kyner's eyes spread wide. _She speaks of killing gnolls as if she were stepping on ants, _thought Kyner_, I couldn't have stood up against gnolls on my own when I was just beginning_. But she had, and killed two of them. _What is stranger, she doesn't seem phased at all._

"We must go," Kyner said, and he went down to the cabin that had been home to Ciara for a few days at least. _He seems to be saying that a lot lately, _thought Ciara.

* * *

Kyner was the first to step into the small cabin he and Ciara had occupied. The furniture had not been bolted down and Ciara's bed had shifted aside. That was when Kyner saw it, and his face blanched. Ciara's eyes betrayed her surprise that Kyner had found it.

A figure had been carved into the wood planks on the wall beside the bed with a knife. Kyner pushed the bed all the way aside and knelt down to get a better look. Dark tendrils stretched out from a body masked with shadow. Kyner had no idea what it was supposed to be but the poise that the figure carried belonged unmistakably to Ciara.

"I'm sorry," Kyner heard Ciara say as he studied the figure, "I don't mean to do these things but," she paused, groping for words, "I need to," was all she could come up with, "I'm sorry," she said again.

Kyner faced Ciara, and could see that the girl he had tried to raise was still very much there. Kyner stood and closed the distance to Ciara with two steps to embrace her.

When he released her, Ciara saw that his eyes had softened, and there were restrained tears within them. "Ciara," he said, "do whatever you need to do," he hesitated and looked at the wall carving, "If drawing these things helps you to obtain some peace of mind then . . . by all means," Kyner's voice trailed off and he embraced Ciara again. What Ciara had seen of his expression said the same drawings would do nothing to ease his own sleep.


	7. Daggers

_Daggers_

"We should have stopped when the sun went down," Imoen complained as she and Saunder trudged through the night, following the road south as best they could. A gust of wind tore through the trees and Imoen pulled her cloak tighter about herself.

"Beregost can't be too much further," Saunder said.

"You said that more than an hour ago," Imoen whined.

"We might have been there an hour ago if you could keep the pace!" Saunder snapped back.

"We should have tried to get back into Candlekeep," said Imoen.

"I seem to remember asking you to do the same thing."

"Well, the Watchers–"

"Would probably have let you back in with Winthrop's word," Saunder interrupted.

Imoen was quiet for a moment but was determined to keep talking, certain that she would be even colder if she allowed her mouth to stop moving. "Well I couldn't just let you go alone."

Saunder stopped and faced Imoen, "Why not?"

"Well," Imoen sputtered, "someone has to make sure you don't get yourself into more trouble than you can get out of."

The grim cast fell from Saunder's face and he hugged Imoen. "I'm glad you're here Im," he said, remembering that the swordswoman could easily have slain him if not for her.

"Thanks," Imoen replied softly.

"But we still need to reach Beregost tonight," said Saunder, as he resumed walking.

Imoen grimaced but didn't say anything. Soon she felt that the cold abated and easily kept pace with Saunder, until a man dove out of his cover in the brush along the roadside and tackled Imoen, knocking the breath from her as she fell.

The man who would have tackled Saunder made his move seconds too late and impaled himself on Saunder's sword. The young paladin heard a third man emerging from the brush behind him and whirled about in time to parry the man's descending mace but was sorely taken aback when his long sword snapped as the mace passed through it.

Saunder jumped back and was grateful that he still had a quarter of the blade left. The malevolence in the man's smile was unmistakable as he brandished his mace and started again for Saunder. But the man was halted in his path when an arrow sped through the night and perforated his throat. He collapsed slowly, choking on his own blood.

Saunder was already turning back to Imoen. The man he had heard tackle her now held a knife to her throat. _Where did the arrow come from then? _Saunder wondered.

"Drop what's left of your sword, boy," the man demanded, his eyes were as wide and searched the darkness frantically. _He doesn't know where the shot came from either._ "Now," the man growled.

Saunder saw a vague shape begin to emerge out of the shadows behind the man who held Imoen, and slowly put down what was left of his sword.

The vague outline of a man darted forward, grabbed the arm that held the knife and pulled it away from Imoen's throat. When the man's grip slackened, Imoen wrenched away and ran towards Saunder, who had snatched up the mace of the fallen man. The vague shape twisted the hand that held the knife, embedding the blade in its holder's heart. The shape let go and the man fell. When the outline stepped into the moonlight there was still little to see, the figure appeared to be a little shorter than Saunder but was swathed in a dark cloak that covered all of its features.

"You are fools to travel at this hour and not be on your guard," said the cloaked figure, a man by his voice. As he came closer, Saunder saw that he had a bow, quiver, and spear slung across his back, "all manner of brigands, highwaymen, robbers, and thieves travel these roads. In truth, a traveler must be on his guard during the day too." The man's voice was not deep or gruff, but there was a coldness to it.

"And what are you doing out at this hour?" asked Imoen, her hand resting defensively on the hilt of her short sword.

"You are right to question my motives. I am hunting brigands and had planned on following these three back to their camp. Obviously, that is no longer possible. You are going to Beregost, no?"

"We are," said Saunder.

"I will accompany you then, it would be foolish of me to save you and then leave you to the mercy of any other brigands who may be prowling these roads."

"How far away is Beregost from here?" asked Imoen.

"Less than an hour's walk," replied the cloaked man as he started down the road. Saunder girt the mace of the brigand he had slain and dropped the scabbard of his broken sword.

"You should avoid using any swords that have been forged recently," the cloaked man told Saunder as they walked.

"Why is that?" asked Saunder.

"Are you unaware of the tainted iron supply?"

"I knew that there was a shortage," Saunder admitted, "I don't recall hearing of the iron being tainted."

"Why did you think the Watchers were always complaining about their weapons breaking?" asked Imoen.

Saunder didn't say anything this time.

"Bandits raid every caravan bearing iron that travels along the Coast Way and what little iron is obtained from the Nashkel mines is either completely unuseable or frail, as your sword was."

"Why is the iron from Nashkel tainted?" asked Imoen.

"I've heard a number of stories about the mines, each more far-fetched than the last. I don't intend to believe any of them until I see for myself."

"You intend to go to the mines?" asked Saunder.

"I do," the cloaked man replied, "tomorrow I will journey to Nashkel and discover what plagues the mines."

The three walked in silence for a time. Imoen broke the silence: "You know, we still don't know your name."

"And I don't know yours."

"Let's not be strangers any longer then, my name is Imoen and his is Saunder."

"Kivan," the cloaked man replied curtly.

"Where are you from?"

"Now I understand why you were waylaid, you make so much noise a dwarf could find you without difficulty."

"Now wait–"

"He has a point Im, if we talk some skulking bandit will be able to hear us and we'll be even less likely to hear them."

Imoen shot an irritated glance at Saunder, but kept her mouth shut.

* * *

Beregost first appeared as distant specks of light visible through the trees and then as vague outlines before the travelers stepped out of the woods surrounding the sprawl of buildings.

"Where are you going?" asked Kivan as they stepped into the town.

Saunder and Imoen exchanged glances. "We don't know," Saunder replied.

"What? How long have the two of you been on the road?"

"Only a few days."

"From where, the Friendly Arm?"

"Candlekeep."

"Oh, that cloister of librarians and mages. Why did you leave?"

Saunder hesitated and Kivan resumed walking, "I can see you've no desire to talk, that I can understand. I will stay at the Red Sheaf Inn. Do you have any coin?"

Saunder nodded.

"Then you'll be able to pay your own way, the Red Sheaf is inexpensive."

* * *

Candles in the common room of the Red Sheaf Inn cast exaggerated shadows of the inn's patrons on the low ceiling. There were only a few people left in the common room, few of them spoke, and even then only in murmurs.

Kivan strode into the common room with Saunder and Imoen trailing behind. Saunder noted how different this common room was from the one back at the Candlekeep Inn. Both places were fairly quiet, but here there was a vital tension, a feeling of realness absent at Candlekeep. The people here looked to be merchants and mercenaries, not the pretentious and self-important nobles and scholars who frequented Candlekeep.

There was something else as well. Saunder tried to think about what it might be but it eluded him. Something he felt he should be seeing but didn't.

"Get a table," said Kivan, "I know the innkeeper; he'll get us something to eat."

As Kivan walked toward the bar he pulled back his hood and Saunder and Imoen saw his pointed ears.

"I didn't realize he was an elf," Saunder murmured.

"He did seem a little grave for one," Imoen added, "come on, let's get a table like he said."

There were many tables to chose from. The pair chose the closest and sat down with relief. After so many hours of walking, the comfort provided by the wooden chairs was duly appreciated.

"What _are_ we going to do?" Imoen asked.

"I don't know," Saunder admitted, "maybe it would have been a better idea to have gone to the Friendly Arm Inn, where Gorion told me to go."

"You always were slow."

Saunder sighed. "Maybe we should stay with Kivan."

"I don't like him," Imoen said flatly.

"Why? Because he told you to be quiet?"

"There's something wrong with that man–elf. He's not telling us something."

"We're not telling him a lot of things either."

Imoen glowered at Saunder, then grimaced and broke her gaze.

"I can't think of anything else we can do Imoen. If you have any ideas I'm more than willing to take suggestions."

Imoen looked back up at Sander, then her eyes shot wide. "Behind you!" she screamed.

Saunder dove out of his chair and avoided the knife that had been intended for his ribs. After scrambling to his feet Saunder saw an armored dwarf shove aside the chair he had just been sitting in. The dwarf dropped his knife and ungirt an axe from his side, his face imperceptible behind a conical helm and thick beard.

Saunder unfastened the mace from his belt and jumped back to avoid the dwarf's swing then lunged forward and struck the dwarf on his shoulder. The dwarf cursed loudly and bashed Saunder's face with his shield, causing him drop his weapon, then brought his axe down. Saunder caught the haft of the descending axe with both hands, but the dwarf was strong, and Saunder knew he couldn't hold for long. An arrow struck the dwarf's breastplate but glanced off and Saunder seized the opportunity and shoved the dwarf away and against a table.

With Saunder a safe distance away from the dwarf, Kivan loosed the arrow that perforated the dwarf's knee. The crippled dwarf took only one step before collapsing. Kivan approached the three at the corner of the common room. Imoen still held her bow with an arrow nocked, Saunder stood a few feet away from the fallen dwarf tensely holding his mace, both were facing the dwarf where he sat, crumpled in front of a chair.

"Kivan," muttered the dwarf when he saw the elf, "I didn't figure you for one to shoot a dwarf in the back of his knee."

"I can't claim to be surprised at seeing you try to stab a man in the back, Karlat," Kivan said as he kicked the dwarf's axe away, "Tell me, did someone hire you to kill them or is this on your own time." The dwarf was silent. "Tell me, or I'll put an arrow through your elbow." The dwarf still refused to talk, Kivan did just as he said he would and the dwarf uttered a series of incomprehensible curses.

Kivan turned as the innkeeper approached, a tall, lanky man with cold eyes. Beside the innkeeper was a large man with a cudgel girt at his side.

"I don't care what you do with this dwarf," the innkeeper whispered, "you know I'm no friend of thieves and would-be murderers, but do it quietly. I don't want the Flaming Fist showing up because of the dwarf's hollering."

"Let me take him to the cellar then," Kivan replied cooly.

The innkeeper faced the man standing beside him, "Haig, help my friend take this dwarf down to the cellar."

"The two of you stay here for now," Kivan told Saunder and Imoen.

Saunder watched as Kivan and the large man hauled the dwarf, who, fortunately, had lost consciousness, through a door at the far end of the common room and the innkeeper disappeared behind the bar, then became conscious of the fact that he still held his mace and girt it.

"Let's get a different table," Imoen suggested. Saunder nodded.

Despite the commotion, most of the patrons seemed unmoved. Within a few minutes, a serving woman brought the two porridge and rye bread. The steaming porridge made the two travelers realize how long it had been since their last meals.

When he had finished devouring his meal, Saunder remembered the feeling he had when he stepped into the inn, whose meaning eluded him. Now he understood that it must have had something to do with the dwarf, Karlat. _In the future, I need to be more cognizant of that feeling. It may save my life._

"I see you two are done." Saunder looked up from his porridge and saw the innkeeper, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Saunder nodded. "You're staying here tonight, no? Unless if the elf's paying for you, it's ten coppers a room."

Saunder nodded, retrieved the coppers from his purse and handed them to the innkeeper who took them and removed a key from the massive key ring that hung from his belt. He examined the key as if to ensure it was the correct one and handed it to Saunder.

"The room is the third on the left. Have a good night," he said, gruffly.

"Thank you," said Saunder. The innkeeper nodded curtly and left to attend other business.

"He wasn't friendly at all," Imoen complained.

"He thinks we're trouble," Saunder said, standing up. At the same moment the cellar door opened and Kivan stepped through.

"Do you have a room?" he asked.

"Yes," Saunder replied.

"We'll go to it now. We cannot discuss this matter in public."

"Where's the other man who went down with you?" asked Imoen.

"Getting rid of the body," Kivan replied.

* * *

The room the innkeeper had given them was sparsely furnished, with two beds and a single nightstand between them.

"Sit down and speak softly, the walls are thin," said Kivan, and sat on one bed while Saunder and Imoen on the other. "I did not find out much from the dwarf. He was bound by a geas, you know what that is?"

"A magical binding used to ensure loyalty and obedience. Disobeying a geas results in pain or death and breaking a geas is nearly impossible," Imoen said as if by rote.

Kivan nodded, "Karlat was bound with one which was supposed to keep him from telling me anything about his motives. This geas was particularly restrictive, and my questioning resulted in his death."

Imoen winced.

"You killed him?" Saunder asked.

"Yes. I didn't get much out of him other than a name: Tazok." Kivan's eyes gleamed coldly.

"You know who that is?" asked Imoen.

"He is a leader among bandits, a savage half-ogre I've been hunting for years. Now I have a question to ask you, why would Tazok specifically want you dead?"

"I don't know," Saunder admitted, "I've lived in Candlekeep my entire life and never seriously wronged anyone."

"Why did you leave Candlekeep?"

"Gorion . . ." Saunder paused and looked at Imoen, who was staring at him.

"Gorion, who is that?" Kivan asked.

"He was my foster-father," Saunder said, facing Kivan again, "he said we had to leave Candlekeep, that it wasn't safe. We weren't a hundred paces past the gates when we were ambushed."

"By whom?"

"I'm not sure how many there were. It was dark. There were maybe five or six of them. Many ogres and two people I think were humans. One of them was very tall, six, maybe even seven feet, and he wielded a great sword with one hand."

"That may have been Tazok. It sounds like the right height for a half-ogre."

"I don't think so, unless Tazok's eyes glow yellow, like fire. He killed Gorion, and I ran. Later on I found Imoen."

"You didn't leave together?" Kivan asked.

"I followed them," Imoen explained, "since I knew they were leaving."

Kivan's eyes narrowed, "You are not Gorion's foster-child as well then?"

"No," Imoen answered the question as if it were a stupid one.

"Strange, I was certain that you were . . . never mind, apparently I was wrong. I'm digressing. Have you been attacked any other times?"

"A woman attacked me soon after we left Candlekeep but she may have just been a brigand like the ones who attacked us on the way to Beregost."

"A woman brigand? Odd, but not unheard of. Is that all?"

Saunder nodded.

"And you have no idea why all of these people are after you?"

"None," Saunder said.

"Frustrating," Kivan muttered, "maybe your foster-father did something that angered his killer enough that he wants you dead as well."

Saunder shook his head, "The man who killed Gorion said that if he gave me over he would go unharmed."

"A lie, probably. Yet somehow Tazok is involved. I have been hunting Tazok for a long time. When I heard of how prevalent banditry was here, I knew Tazok would come. Yet I can't imagine why he would have any quarrel with you. I suspect he is acting as someone else's lieutenant. Unfortunately, all of this thinking still leaves us with nowhere to start looking."

"What do you intend to do?" asked Saunder.

"I still intend to go to the Nashkel mines and discover what is happening there. You are both welcome to come with me. If we keep our eyes open, we may discover why you are being hunted."

"Im, what do you think?"

Imoen shrugged, "We don't have anywhere else to go, do we?"

Saunder shook his head, faced Kivan, "We'll come."

"Very well," said Kivan, "before we go to the mines there are other things we need to do. First, I need to teach both of you a few things about combat. Saunder, there isn't too much I can teach about melee combat other than a few principles. However, I can teach both of you how to shoot."

"Hey!" Imoen protested, "I can already shoot."

"True, you're a fair enough shot from what I've seen but you need to learn precision. If you are facing an opponent wearing armor you must be able to target the spots that your arrows will penetrate.

"Once I'm confident with your abilities we will travel a short distance west, there is a mad priest there named Bassilus who has been troubling this town and the surrounding farmhouses. Once we're finished, he will trouble Beregost no more."


	8. Detours

_Detours_

Ciara followed Kyner as he stepped back onto the deck of the beached river boat. There were only a handful of crewmen left, including the captain. None of the remaining crewmen were injured, they were the ones the gnolls hadn't gotten to.

"If you want to come with us," said Kyner, approaching the captain but being sure to address each crewman, "ready yourselves immediately. I intend to leave in less than five minutes."

"We stay," the captain said grimly to his men, "we stay and repair the ship. We are not leaving our cargo here."

"You will not last the night," cautioned Kyner, "the gnolls will be back, and they will want vengeance."

"Damn you, your ship, and your cargo," muttered one man as he broke away from the group, he was a man of modest height and build, black hair and a clean-shaven face framed his cold blue eyes. The man wore a leather jerkin and short swords hung from each of his hips. He approached Kyner with a sure step and his boots barely made a sound on the wooden deck.

"What is your name?" asked Kyner.

"Bohdan Gyles," replied the man, and he lowered his voice to a murmur, "I do believe I have a much better chance of getting back to civilization with you than that lot," Gyles motioned to the few remaining crewmen over his shoulder, all of whom were staring scornfully at his back.

"Get your things then," said Kyner, "and be quick about it."

"I don't trust him," said Ciara, softly, after the man had vanished beneath the deck.

"I don't either," replied Kyner, "I'd wager he's bloodied those blades of his before, and not in any honest venture."

"Why are you letting him join us then?" asked Ciara, her brow furrowed.

"There is strength in numbers and his talents may prove valuable."

* * *

The three left the wreck under the baleful gazes of those who remained. Progress across the hills was slow at first, while Bohdan and Ciara became used to the constant up and down of the small hills. Only Kyner seemed to move naturally across the undulating hills, but Ciara adjusted much quicker than Bohdan.

"Eh, sir," Bohdan started after a time, "could we have a moment to rest. I understand the necessity to keep moving but I'm likely to roll an ankle if we keep at this pace."

Kyner nodded, but he wasn't watching Bohdan, his eyes were on Ciara. They had been going for nearly five hours now at a fast pace over hill-country and the girl wasn't even breathing hard. She had only needed to adjust her balance and then she kept on as if she had been doing it for years.

"You have ten minutes to catch your breath," said Kyner, "I want to get as far as we can before nightfall."

"Aye," responded Bohdan, as he set about finding a convenient rock to sit on.

"Where exactly are we going?" Ciara asked Kyner, "I know that we were initially going to Hreispell. How much is this changing our plans?"

"A prudent question," responded Kyner, "we will go south in order to get out of the Jutonfar range as soon as possible. That road will lead us through the Aeterveran Wood."

"That's elven territory," Bohdan quickly said.

"So it is," responded Kyner, "but our only other option is to go the entire way along the Jutonfar Hills. I prefer the company of elves above that of gnolls. What do you think Bohdan?"

Bohdan sighed, "At least gnolls are predictable. Damn, what have I gotten myself into?"

"If you like, you can still make it back to your ship. They're probably still alive and might even make it with some help." Ciara was struck by the coldness in Kyner's voice.

Bohdan laughed, "That, I think, would be a worse fate than the mercy of the gnolls."

* * *

"This spot will do," said Kyner. The spot was a small hilltop like any other the three had come across during the course of the day. Kyner's gaze drifted to the setting sun, "we have to start setting up the tent now, or do it in the dark."

Kyner set down one of his satchels and began to remove the components of his tent by rote. Bohdan started planting the tend spikes. Ciara watched for a time as the two men set up the tent and then joined in with the ease of one who might have done it several times before. _She learns quick that one,_ thought Bohdan. _Sweet-looking__girl but there's something not right about her_.

* * *

Ciara lay on the light pallet that Kyner had packed for her. Despite the long walk she did not feel tired. The unevenness of the terrain had taken time to get used to but she felt she had adjusted well. For a long time she lay on the pallet, idling dragging her fingers across the dirt beside the pallet. When sleep did not come she stood and left the tent.

Kyner was standing outside the tent, watching the distance. Ciara could hardly see a thing.

"Can't sleep?" he asked without turning. Ciara only shook her head but Kyner perceived the answer anyhow. "Sleep won't come easy on a night like this. There are gnolls about, many of them. They are looking for us."

"How can you tell?" asked Ciara, and she stepped up beside Kyner.

"Take one of your rings off and put this one on," said Kyner, and he handed her the ring he had just been wearing.

When Ciara slipped Kyner's ring on she could see red shapes moving in the distance and all around the hills.

"What are those?" she asked.

"You're seeing the heat produced by the gnolls, a sense given to you by the ring. Mages call that sense selective infravision, it will only show you the heat produced by humanoids. True infravision is disorienting for those not accustomed to it." Ciara nodded and gave the ring back to Kyner.

"Will they find us?"

"I doubt it. There are too few of them and too much area to cover. We will eventually cross paths but I doubt it will be tonight. Try to get some sleep Ciara."

Ciara lay on the pallet for nearly another hour before she finally fell asleep. She thought her fingers might still be dragging along on the dirt.

Kyner slipped the infravision ring back on and turned his eyes south. A number of shapes were steadily moving north at a determined pace. They were too small to be gnolls and seemed to be armed. It was impossible to tell what kinds but the fact that he could see them at all meant they were probably heavy weapons. Few warriors would fight gnolls except with spears, great swords, or, preferably, pikes. _If we can find them they will likely join us_._ I don't relish the idea of crossing Jotunfar with only two companions_.

* * *

Ciara awoke before dawn. There was just enough light to make out a shape etched into the dirt beside her. Ciara rose on the pallet to stare at the shape. A skull stared back up at her. Although there was no expression on the fleshless face, Ciara was certain the thing was laughing at her. She scuffed the image out with her heel.

Ciara stepped out of the tent and was totally unsurprised to see that Kyner was still awake.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Kyner.

"I did. Did you sleep at all?"

Kyner laughed and shook his head.

"Get some sleep then. I'd hate for you to collapse during the day. I'll take the watch."

"I've no need for rest,"Kyner said, "it will be light soon, foolish to waste time here."

_How long had he been traveling before he came to Noatun?_ wondered Ciara. _He moves with the stamina of a man in his prime_. _I hope age doesn't catch up with him_.

"I'll wake Gyles," said Kyner, "then we go."


	9. New Beginnings

_New Beginnings_

Sadira walked along the streets of the city called Elversult. While not as large or grand as Suzail the place did have a quiet dignity, and it was not so drear as Pros or Ilipur. As Sadira walked amongst the crowds she felt regret at doing what she had to do. She brushed against many people as she walked, so lightly that it was all but unnoticeable in such a crowd. The young woman could only console herself in that she was not stealing much from each person whose purse she lightened, but the sheer number of people she stole from more than made up the difference.

It took Sadira less than an hour before she was satisfied and hastened to return to the inn she had lodged at for the past few days. The inn was the kind of place that Bahram would have scoffed at and refused to enter, let alone stay the night. Sadira could not afford to be so selective.

Most people had already drifted away from the common room as the night drew on. Sadira was glad to find that the kitchens were still in business and paid the innkeeper a few bronze marks before sitting down at a table removed from the rest of the common room.

The few people who remained in the common room would glance her way every so often but Sadira pretended not to notice. The last thing she wanted was for strangers to start asking her questions–although she doubted that word of what had happened in Suzail had gone much further than Cormyr.

Sadira's food arrived quickly but she took her time in eating it, after all, she hardly had any pressing appointments. When she finished, she gave the plate back over to the innkeeper, who murmured his thanks, and then went upstairs.

The room was cramped and its size would only have been fit for a closet if it were in her husband's apartment. _It might not be much but at least I obtained it with my own coin. _That thought gave Sadira some slight comfort as she opened the door to see the small table and low bed that took up most of the room.

The light was minimal, only that which streamed from the hallway, but Sadira was certain she saw two shapes lingering in the darkest of shadows in the room. They were utterly still and Sadira almost wasn't sure they were there at all. Her eyes flickered from one shape to the other.

"She sees us you know," said one of the figures as he stepped forward.

"Aye," said the other, and crossed his arms, "she has good eyes as well as deft hands."

"Who are you?" asked Sadira, backing up a step, her voice tremulous.

"Please come in," said the man who had stepped forward. The other lit a candle on the table, lighting up what little could be seen beneath the men's cowled faces. Both wore dark cloaks over equally dark tunics. "You need not be worried. We are not here to rob or harm you. There are things we would discuss with you, and I believe the ends will work toward our mutual advantage."

Sadira hesitated then closed the door and walked the minute distance to the little table. Sadira sat down on the rickety chair closest to the door and watched the two men seat themselves in chairs Sadira was certain had not been in her room earlier.

"What do you want?" she asked after a shallow breath.

"We want to offer you a job."

"What kind of job?" asked Sadira, masking her relief.

"You'll be doing much the same thing you do now, simply more of it."

The other man continued, "We represent a small but prosperous thieves guild here in Elversult. We rarely take in new members but you show promise. I'm willing to assume you've never been trained and have little actual experience; but even so, you are a better thief than most of the rabble in this city."

"You've been watching me?"

"Indeed, one of our thieves noticed your handiwork by accident while he was doing his own rounds. He followed you to your inn and we have been watching you for the past three days. We quickly came to a consensus that you could prove to be a valuable asset to our activities."

"Trained, and working with our guild, you will be able to bring in more coin than you could possibly gain working alone. I think you will do very well with us."

"I don't know," admitted Sadira.

"Then I'll let you in on an unpleasant truth. We are hardly the only thieves guild in this city. There are many others, and they will soon take notice of you. Should you choose to join us, you may leave as you will, after you have repaid your training of course. Other guilds will force or coerce you into their ranks and never let you go without pain of death."

"Or," the other started, "they may have you killed for interfering in their own activities. Certain guilds can be very territorial."

Sadira considered and finally said, "Then I have few good choices do I?" Both of the men shook their heads. "I accept then," Sadira hesitantly added, "when do I start?"

One of them smiled graciously and handed her a slip of paper, "Meet us at this location early tomorrow evening, it is an old storehouse in the north-east corner of the city. That is where your training will begin. Tell them Ondrus sent you."

Sadira nodded as the two men rose and left. Soon after, she changed into the nightclothes she had purchased since fleeing Suzail and lay on the hard bed after snuffing out the candle.

She was glad that the terrible voice had gone silent since she had killed Bahram and wounded, maybe even killed, the two guardsmen who had come after. But she had a feeling that it was waiting, and she didn't want to know for what it waited.


	10. The Hills of Jutonfar

_The Hills of Jutonfar_

"I wish they lacked celerity," Bohdan muttered as he tried to keep up with Kyner and Ciara, "as well as vigilance."

Hours ago the party had been eating what sufficed for lunch on a hilltop when they were startled by a sudden clamor of charging gnolls. Bohdan had relaxed when it turned out that the gnolls were charging over the hill beside the one they were occupying but the old man had seen fit to grab his gear and promptly chase after them. The girl simply shrugged and then followed the blasted fool.

They had been pursuing the gnolls at breakneck speed for nearly two hours. Bohdan was certain that Kyner was deliberately not overtaking the band of ravenous hyena-men and had uttered innumerable curses against the both of them, but not too loudly of course.

_Whenever we finally arrive at wherever the gnolls are going I won't have the strength to fight them._

Then he saw the thing that the gnolls were heading to: a small stone fortress that sat on a hill in the distance, from it came the ominous sounds of spell casting and the ring of steel. Kyner stopped on the crest of the hill before the fortress.

A mob of gnolls were gathered around the fortress' gates, trying to break through with a battering ram that was no more than a sharpened log, while a few gnolls with longbows fired at cloaked warriors who defended the fortress from its parapet.

"They pay no attention to what may be behind them," muttered Kyner as he drew Issgar, "I'll go first. Bohdan, I want you to make your way up the hill and kill as many of their archers as you can. Be careful not to endanger yourself."

"And what do you plan to do, charge in?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like your endangering yourself to me."

"Gnolls are brutes utterly lacking in skill. I will be in no danger. Ciara, I want you to stay out of–"

"I can fight," Ciara protested, "you saw that on the river boat."

Kyner grimaced. "Very well," he said, "use your discretion, and don't forget about your potions."

Ciara nodded and checked her satchel to ensure that the potions were still in there and easily accessible, then drew Aitana.

"The fool's going to get us all killed," grumbled Bohdan as Kyner hurried down the hill.

_Kyner didn't even break a sweat on the river boat, _thought Ciara_, and he certainly doesn't seem worried now._

The gnolls failed to notice Kyner until he had halved one of their archers. The old warrior then ignored the other archers as he rushed towards the bulk of the gnolls, around the gates. These gnolls reacted faster than the archers did. Kyner ducked under the swing of the first gnoll's halberd and lunged forward to impale the gnoll that he found in front of himself. He then swung his blade rapidly to the left and the sword dug deep into a surprised gnoll's chest. The gnolls only became more confused as Kyner swung harder to his right and spilled the intestines of the gnoll that had been standing there. Then Kyner disappeared as he was surrounded on all sides.

"That's our cue," said Bohdan and he ran down the side of the slope. Ciara looked to see where he was going but the man had disappeared.

After clambering up the slope of the fortress' hill, Ciara saw that gnoll archers continued to fire at the cloaked warriors atop the castle.

Then Ciara saw a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Bohdan ram a short sword through a gnoll's back. The gnoll may have tried to scream but only gasped ineffectually, Bohdan had pierced its lungs. Ciara wondered what might be going through that creature's mind as it died, wondered if it would die of blood loss or suffocation first.

Ciara heard the feral laughter of an archer as it turned toward her. The gnoll drew an arrow back and Ciara stared unflinchingly as it took aim, then sidestepped the shot. Angrily, the gnoll threw down its bow to pull a hefty mace from its belt.

While the creature raised its mace for an overhand swing, Ciara stepped forward and swung her long sword, but the gnoll had surprising speed and parried the swing with a more aggressive swing of it's iron mace. The impact set Ciara off-balance and she took an awkward step back.

The creature glared down at Ciara triumphantly and swung it's mace again. The girl sidestepped the cumbersome weapon and made a deft cut with Aitana that severed the Gnoll's leg from the knee down and the creature fell heavily. Ciara looked past the dying gnoll to see that two gnolls had broken off their attack on Kyner to deal with her.

As they approached, the two gnolls separated and moved in on either side of Ciara. The first gnoll charged at her with a confidant howl and swung its poleaxe at Ciara. Ciara meant to simply parry the poleaxe but when the shaft of the gnoll's poleaxe struck her blade Aitana cut through the shaft as if it were no more than paper. The gnoll seemed dumbfounded for a moment as it held the cloven pieces of its weapon and Ciara took advantage of the moment to run the creature through.

After pulling her sword free, Ciara turned to face the other gnoll, only to see it lying on the ground beneath Bohdan and his two blooded short swords. Ciara gave him a brief, but grateful, smile. More gnolls were coming.

Ciara heard the rush of heavy paws on the ground and turned to see a gnoll rushing at her with its halberd lowered, spike aimed at her gut. The girl parried the halberd at the notch between blade and spike then directed the momentum the gnoll had put behind the weapon into the ground. The halberd was effectively stuck in the earth. The gnoll was still letting go of it's weapon when Ciara freed her weapon and swung it in an arc that opened up the gnoll's throat.

Ciara felt the putrid breath of a gnoll behind her and raised her sword horizontally above her head in time for the blade to parry a gnoll's axe. She turned about to face the gnoll while at the same time bringing Aitana down in a slash that hamstrung the creature then leapt back when it fell, flailing about wildly and snapping its jaws in the hope of biting onto something.

Another gnoll collapsed nearby as Bohdan finished it. Ciara heard the gates of the fortress open and saw the cloaked warriors emerge and engage the gnolls with a combination of spears, long swords, and scimitars. Ciara watched as the gnolls at the gate dispersed while Bohdan rushed off to attack more of the gnolls.

Then she realized one of them was coming straight for her. This one was shorter than the others but looked much stronger. It carried a great sword and it's fur was covered in blue and orange war paint. A feral rage permeated it. Ciara readied herself.

The creature rushed forward and Ciara was hard pressed to evade or parry its swings, which were many and frenzied, the great sword seemed alive in the creature's hands. When the powerful gnoll raised its weapon above its shoulders Ciara saw her opportunity. She promptly turned from retreat to advance and hacked off the gnoll's right forearm. It nearly dropped its great sword but held on with its remaining arm. Ciara prepared for the creature's next swing but a long blade suddenly jutted from its chest and withdrew just as quickly.

Kyner pushed the dying creature to the ground and approached Ciara.

"You are hurt?" he asked.

Ciara looked at Kyner and wondered why he was asking her that. His cloak was torn with numerous slashes and arrow perforations, his breastplate had several new dents. There was a gash across his forehead.

"You're the one who's wounded," Ciara exclaimed and made to wipe the wound with a cloth from her satchel. Kyner smiled but caught her arm.

"It's only a scrape really," said Kyner, "I've already had a potion, the scratch will seal itself without so much as a scar. Ciara, you did well today. Few people at all can claim to have bested a flind," and Kyner motioned to the fallen gnoll with the war paint, "he was probably a chieftain of his tribe. Your prowess is unusual for one so . . . inexperienced."

"Most haven't grown up with your training," Ciara responded.

Kyner hesitated, "Even with the best training, a real fight is something altogether different."

Bohdan approached the two and sheathed his short swords. Then the three of them turned toward the expectant looking warriors they may have just saved. The warriors had thrown back their hoods now and were clearly elves. The finely wrought chain mail, extremely light but stronger than plate mail, would have proven that even if they had kept their hoods on. There were maybe ten of them and more were leaving the fortress, many of those just now leaving the fortress were unarmed and raggedly clothed.

"Well met," said Kyner to the elf who stood at the front, "my name is Kyner and I would like to know what your company is doing in this land."

The elf nodded, "Kyner, I believe I have heard of you. My name is Taurnil. A number of my brethren living on the border of our wood had been captured by gnolls and I took my company to recover them. I followed the gnolls to a fortress farther north and liberated my brethren. Unfortunately the gnolls would not leave it at that. We were harried for many days as we proceeded south back to Aeterveris. Last night more gnolls were closing around us and we decided to take shelter in this fortress. The gnolls didn't start attacking until first light and their assault grew more intense throughout the day, until you came.

"I must say, I've never seen anyone wield a great sword so deftly in close quarters. Are you the Kyner who traveled with Gorion?"

"The same."

"Now," said Taurnil, "I would like to know why you are here."

"My companions and I were on a ship bound for Hreispell out of Keep Noatun. Our ship was disabled by gnolls and floundered. I figured that it would be safer to go on foot through gnoll territory than wait for the gnolls to come and butcher us while the crew attempted to make repairs."

"You left them?" Taurnil seemed surprised.

"I presented them the choice to either come with me or die on the ship," Kyner replied cooly, "Bohdan here was the only one who accepted my offer."

"You still intend to go to Hreispell?" asked the elf.

"We do," replied Kyner.

Taurnil thought for a moment, "I believe that we could arrange passage for you. Some of our ships still travel to Hreispell at this time. If not, I'm certain special accommodations can be made for you."

"Thank you. Do you think more gnolls intend to pursue us?"

"After that display of force I find it unlikely."

"Then we had best make way before they can regroup. If you have any wounded, distribute your potions or whatever healing spells you have. If you don't have enough potions you can use some of mine. I want us moving in less than half an hour."

"Understood," Taurnil responded to Kyner as a if he were his commander instead of a stranger and immediately set to carrying out his instructions.

"Were you ever in an army?" asked Ciara when Taurnil was out of earshot.

"I took part in several armies and many campaigns in my youth. Even at this age I find I am still as restless as I was then. Maybe even more restless."

Ciara reflected on how Kyner had taken frequent and long absences from Noatun. Even when she was young, he hated staying in the same place for long.

"It must have been strange for you to stay at Keep Noatun for so long," Ciara said. Kyner grimaced.

"I did it for your safety. I realize now that I was wrong to isolate you like I did but . . . we will speak more of this. I promise you."


	11. Heretic

_Heretic_

Saunder nearly gagged when he inhaled the rancid stench of the undead. The paladin managed to catch the zombie's attack on his shield and heard the abomination's jagged nails drag across the boss. Ignoring the malodor, Saunder swung his mace and crushed the zombie's shoulder then used his shield to bash the zombie's face. But the zombie was not knocked off balance, and raked it's nails across Saunder's chest, cutting through leather jerkin and tunic. Saunder suppressed a cry of pain and brought his mace down on top of the zombie's head, which spewed putrid blood as it flattened.

Past the collapsing zombie, Saunder saw that three more skeletons remained as well as the mad priest, Bassilus. Imoen's bow reduced the number of skeletons to two, both of them before Bassilus. Kivan brandished his spear and made for one of the skeletons as Saunder approached the other. The paladin parried the skeleton's first spear thrust and attempted to close the distance but the skeleton, much more nimble than the zombie had been, made a series of jabs that kept Saunder on the defensive.

At length Saunder deflected the spear with enough force to make the skeleton lose its balance for a moment and pressed the attack with a series of reckless swings. Now Saunder was too close for the skeleton to even attempt to defend itself; his first swing smashed the skeleton's right arm while the second shattered its rib cage and the third split its skull.

Saunder saw that Kivan had already dispatched his own adversary and was rushing toward Bassilus. The mad priest chanted in a low murmur and then released his spell. Kivan was at once frozen in position and Bassilus started toward the ranger, brandishing his hammer. Saunder rushed forward and swung his mace at Bassilus but the priest parried the mace on the shaft of his hammer and faced Saunder.

Bassilus was just as loathsome in appearance as the undead he had raised. His face was covered in scars and his skin pallid like that of a corpse. He even smelled little better than the undead.

Bassilus pushed Saunder's weapon away with his hammer and then swung his own weapon at Saunder's face. The paladin managed to step back before the hammer's spike perforated his skull and blocked Bassilus' next swing with his shield, but the priest's spike punch through. Saunder wrenched his shield arm down before Bassilus could withdraw his hammer.

At the same time Bassilus slammed his shield into Saunder's head. Although dizzy and disoriented, Saunder struck out blindly with his mace and felt it hit something. A few seconds later Saunder regained his balance and saw Bassilus lying on the ground, quite still. He looked to have spat out a good deal of blood but bore no visible wounds.

"He only stumbled back a few steps before he collapsed," Imoen said, "you must have hit him pretty hard."

"I must have," Saunder said between breaths.

Saunder looked and saw that Kivan was still frozen in place.

"How long do you think he'll be that way?" Imoen asked.

"It's just a hold spell," Saunder replied, "he'll be fine."

Saunder sat on the ground, still breathing heavily. The fall day seemed much warmer than it had moments ago. Sweat began to bead on the paladin's brow and his leather jerkin felt like a furnace. Saunder started to unlace the jerkin but gave up when he couldn't keep his fingers steady.

"Are you okay?" Imoen asked.

"What? No, I mean . . . I'm fine, just exhausted."

"Saunder, you're bleeding."

Imoen knelt in front of Saunder and pointed to the vertical slices in his leather jerkin.

"Oh, that. The zombie scratched me. Only a scratch."

"Let me see." Imoen snapped her head to face Kivan when he spoke then got out of his way so he could get to Saunder. The ranger unlaced Saunder's leather jerkin and examined the wound. Then felt Saunder's forehead. It was hot. "It isn't too bad now," the ranger said, "but it could have been serious." Kivan retrieved a small green vial from one of his belt pouches, uncapped it, then handed it to Saunder. "Drink," he said. Saunder took the vial in his trembling hands, took a sip, and nearly gagged. Imoen grabbed the vial before Saunder dropped it.

"Make sure he drinks it all," Kivan said to Imoen.

"What is it?" Imoen asked, putting the vial to Saunder's lips and holding his mouth open. "It's an antidote, it will slow the poison enough so that Saunder's own body can defeat it." Kivan took another brief look at Saunder's wounds, retrieved another potion and handed it to Imoen, "have him drink this when he's finished with the antidote." Kivan noticed Imoen's questioning look, "this one's a simple healing potion. Again, make sure he drinks all of it."

Kivan slung his spear across his back and picked up his longbow.

"Where are you going?" Imoen asked.

"I'm just keeping watch," the ranger responded, "Hobgoblins and bandits are known to frequent these woods. We can't be too careful."

There was an awkward silence after those words for a few minutes.

"You don't talk much do you?" Imoen asked.

"A keen observation," Kivan said after a moment.

"Why?"

"There is little I wish to discuss."

"You seem like you've seen a lot, traveled a lot. There must be something you can talk about."

Kivan was silent.

"Come on," Imoen pled, "where are you from? That's a good place to start."

"I have no desire to discuss the details of my past so please be silent. Someday you may learn its value."

"I doubt it," Imoen chuckled.

"Then you must learn its necessity. Your mouth has already gotten you and your friend into one ambush. You may use this moment to practice exercising _restraint_."

Imoen scowled at Kivan's back. The ranger was impassive. Then Imoen realized that the healing potion vial was empty and took it away from Saunder's lips.

"He's finished both of the potions," Imoen announced.

"Good," Kivan said, "he should be around in a few moments then."

* * *

Saunder came to slowly. At length, blurs of color resolved into the clearing he remembered having been in last and he saw Imoen sitting beside him. The paladin groaned and sat up wearily. His muscles felt sore and complained with every movement.

"How do you feel now?" asked Imoen.

"Just fine," Saunder grumbled. He tried to stand, then collapsed again.

"You'll feel stronger in a moment." Kivan said. Saunder saw the ranger standing a short distance across the clearing. He approached Saunder and tossed a medallion. Saunder caught the medallion and saw that it was a skull on top of a black sunburst, the sign of Cyric. "There is a bounty on Bassilus and that medallion is the proof you need in order to collect it. Take this too."

Kivan retrieved a war hammer from the folds of his cloak and handed it to Saunder. "Bassilus' hammer," Saunder observed. Examining it, Saunder realized that the war hammer was a finer weapon than he had previously thought. It's construction was all-metal and it's head inlaid with gold; spikes protruded from the back and top of the hammer.

Saunder groaned as he stood, and girt the war hammer leaving the mace where he had dropped it on the ground.

"The bounty is waiting at the Temple of Lathander, east of Beregost."

Saunder looked at the setting sun, "For now, let's just get back to Beregost," Saunder took another look at the medallion before stowing it in his satchel, "The bounty will still be there tomorrow."


	12. Verdant Fall

_Verdant Fall_

Bohdan grew increasingly nervous as the company drew closer to the border of the Jutonfar Highlands and the Aeterveran Woods. The eyes of the elves lit up with relief as they saw their beloved wood. Bohdan grew even more nervous at the sight of the great trees. These trees were no pines but even in autumn they had not shed their leaves. _It just isn't natural,_ thought Bohdan.

"We're really going into that wood?" he asked Kyner.

"We are, and from there we will take a ship to Hreispell."

"An elven ship?

"Probably."

"You can't be serious," muttered Bohdan.

"Would you rather walk?" Bohdan was silent.

The elves began leaving as the company journeyed deeper into the wood, many of them thanking Kyner before leaving, and the former captives were herded off–presumably to see the healers. Eventually, only the three travelers and Taurnil remained. _How subtly they part company_, thought Ciara.

The trees grew taller and thicker as the four passed into the deeps of the Aeterveran Wood. Broad stairs ascended silver barked trunks to unseen heights.

Light and heavy song drifted down from the high branches of the great trees and Ciara realized how perfectly musical the elven tongue was. Without understanding a single word the song showed her the struggles endured by the elves against innumerable races, their sanctuaries all across Faerun, and an island paradise far to the west.

Ciara broke her gaze away from the high branches to see that Taurnil was watching her. The elf smiled lightly before looking tuning forward again. Ciara looked at her other companions. Bohdan, nervous and ill at ease. Kyner, determined and stalwart. Neither one of them showed any reaction to the song. Ciara continued to listen as she walked on, and her eyes drifted up to the trees.

It was a wonder she didn't trip over anything, her eyes didn't see the ground for a long time.

* * *

At length the four arrived at a tree whose trunk was thicker than that of the others and ascended its spiraling stair. Bohdan tried to keep his eyes on the inside of the spiral. Ciara looked down on the forest they were rising above, spellbound.

_Maybe she can find something here_, thought Kyner, _This place radiates peace._ _But peace can lull one into complacency. Something I cannot afford._

When they had finally ascended the long stair they found themselves on a broad platform that had been built onto the tree. Various platforms ringed other trees and narrow bridges connected the platforms. Ciara gaped shamelessly at the marvel.

"Come," said Taurnil, "we are almost there."

He led them across a narrow bridge to another platform. The elf and Kyner crossed with utmost confidence in the bridge's durability. Bohdan crossed slowly and then sped up drastically when a gust of wind whipped his cloak. Ciara laughed as she crossed and even leaned onto the railing of the narrow bridge to stare downward for a few moments.

After a few moments, Ciara followed the rest of the party into a structure that had been finely carved into one of the silver barked great trees. Much of the tree's inside had been hollowed out and the results could not be faulted. Kings would give entire provinces to have the simple, yet elegant, accommodations like those enjoyed by the denizens of Aeterveris. It would have been impossible to construct a room of such natural perfection with mortal means.

The room was only simply furnished with a few tables and chairs but the craftsmanship was undeniable. A warm hearth quietly blazed on the far side of the room and a spiral staircase ascended the perimeter of the high-ceilinged room to the next level.

"I will inform Lord Mahtan of your arrival," said Taurnil, and he rapidly ascended the staircase. Kyner comfortably took a seat at one of the tables and Ciara followed his example. Bohdan remained standing. It was not long before Taurnil descended the stair again. A number of other elves descended soon after and made quick exits.

"Kyner, Lord Mahtan will see you now. I will show the two of you to your quarters."

Ciara gave Kyner a worried glance. The old warrior nodded and she hesitantly followed Taurnil behind Bohdan.

Kyner ascended the stair alone. The second floor was Lord Mahtan's audience chamber, and Mahtan himself sat on a well-made but plain chair atop a dais. He rose as Kyner entered.

"It is good to see you again, old friend," said Mahtan.

"Yes," Kyner replied as he approach Mahtan, "I only wish the circumstances were different."

"Your tension is quite palpable," Mahtan commented, "I could tell that you wanted to meet with me alone before you were even in this bough. Now tell me, why have you come?"

"It was not my intention to come here, old friend. The ship I was traveling on was attacked by gnolls and ran aground on the south bank."

"Where are you traveling to?"

"We were bound for Hreispell, and from there to Scornubel."

"I would not recommend that destination friend," said Mahtan.

"And why?"

"Because insurmountable bands of brigands have laid waste to a great deal of the land between the Wood of Sharp Teeth and the Sunset Mountains. They ravage towns and the countryside unchecked."

"What of the militias and local armies?"

"It is all they can do to defend their own cities. Why did you seek to travel to Scornubel in the first place?"

"It was at the behest of Gorion," replied Kyner, "he felt that we had the best chance of meeting there. We knew that we couldn't stay where we were, him in Candlekeep and myself at Noatun."

"Why did you need to leave?"

"Do you recall the prophecies of Alaundo?" asked Kyner.

"Yes, detailing the prophesied death and possible resurrection of Bhaal through his mortal progeny. I've read what I could of them but I admit that has been very little."

"The prophesied children of Bhaal are very real."

"How do you know?"

"I've spent the past twenty years raising one."

"How–" Mahtan sputtered.

"Did I come to be the foster-father of a child of Bhaal? I was in Gorion's retinue when we attacked a temple of Bhaal. We were unable to save any but two children. A boy and a girl. Gorion took and raised one, and I the other."

"You are traveling with her now?"

"Yes, her name is Ciara."

"You named her?"

"I did."

"Does she know what she is?"

"I've told her a fair amount. However, there remains much to be said."

"So," Mahtan started, "what do you intend to do now?"

"I will continue to Hreispell. I need to keep moving."

"What will you do once you get to Hreispell? That is what I want to know."

"I will probably go on to Baldur's Gate. There is a chance that I may be able to find Gorion there."

Mahtan nodded, "Baldur's Gate is safe for now. Now I must tell you some news I have dreaded. The messenger came in a few hours ago and related to me that, sometime yesterday, frost giants descended from the Dagger Rise Mountains and laid waste to Keep Noatun. My spies watched but didn't dare to stand in their way.

"The frost giants seemed to be looking for someone. When they couldn't find that person they killed everyone and razed the keep and all of its outbuildings."

"They were looking for Ciara," Kyner grimaced.

"_My troubles dear friend,"_ Kyner remembered telling Fredek before he had left Noatun,_ "you need not worry over it."_

"There is more," said Mahtan, "though I did not think it important earlier, my spies told me that the giant who appeared to be leading could have been no older than thirty years. That is quite young for a giant, especially a leader."

"You think he is a Bhaalspawn also?"

"I think it very likely, considering what you've just told me."

"I will be sure then to not spend so much time here as I did in Keep Noatun."

"Do you wish to leave immediately? I could easily arrange it."

"No," said Kyner, "Ciara seems at peace in this place. I do not desire to rip her from it so soon. I would like to stay a day or two."

"Very well," said Mahtan, "you may stay as long as you like. Selinde will be waiting downstairs. Simply ask her to take you to your companions."

"Thank you." Kyner turned away but paused. _Can I trust him?_

"There is something else?" asked Mahtan.

"Yes," Kyner said slowly. "When Ciara and I fled Noatun, we were ambushed on the river by elves."

"Surely you do not think they were my men?" asked Mahtan. His face betrayed both concern and disbelief.

"No," said Kyner, "they were neither as disciplined as your warriors nor were they so well equipped. However, they did bear arms of elven quality."

"That is most distressing," said Mahtan, "several days ago a number of elves under my care disappeared. They were all young, and so we thought that wanderlust had taken them. It is not so uncommon that a number of youths will strike out together. Several months earlier a number of our weapons disappeared. We had no luck finding the culprits. I had not considered to put the two together until now.

"But, I do not understand why my people would leave to attack you and your ward. I am sorry, old friend. Do you have any idea of what has taken place?"

"I am certain that Ciara is being hunted by other Bhaalspawn. Your youths may not have meant to come for our lives. I am sorry for their deaths."

"What do you mean?"

"They may have been tied by a geas spell."

Mahtan shuddered, "We will speak no more of this now. I must think on this. Sleep well, old friend."

"I fear that my sleep will be as restless as your own."

* * *

Kyner opened the door to the chambers that had been provided for Ciara. He had hoped that she would still be awake. At Noatun he had known her to stay awake into the harrowing hours of the night. Instead he found Ciara lying in bed, the long sword Aitana propped against the wall.

The old man crossed the floor to Ciara's bedside. She slept soundly. It was something Kyner had seen her do too little of.

"Sleep well, child," he murmured as he quietly left the chamber.


	13. Business

_Business_

Darach was furiously scribbling on his parchment when the heavy satchel landed on his desk. The gnome jumped several inches out of his chair and dropped his quill pen. He looked up to see the newest recruit, Tassa, as she called herself, barely holding in her laughter.

"I really wish you would stop doing that," Darach muttered as he looked for his quill pen, then realized it had rolled off the table. Before he could get out of his chair, Tassa had swept the pen off the floor and placed it on top of his parchment.

"All right Tassa," said Darach, using the name Sadira had given the guild, "what have you brought me?"

"See for yourself," said Sadira, pushing the satchel toward him, "my biggest catch yet."

"What is it? More fire agates and lynx eyes? Such rabble is not even worth my time."

Sadira only smiled and watched Darach expectantly. Darach sighed and opened the satchel. Once he peered inside, the gnome pulled the satchel closer and eagerly began retrieving gems and determining their worth.

"A very good catch," Darach admitted, "Jacinth, ruby, opal, black sapphire, and several kings tears. Who did you rob to get these? Yanseldara herself?"

"Lord Norvel was kind enough to part with them," Sadira replied smugly.

"Norvel, that thug of a merchant?"

"He's the one."

Darach chuckled, "You're very selective about your targets, only nobles and merchants."

Sadira only shrugged, "How much can you get off those?"

"I estimate I can get over fifteen hundred silver marks for these. That's over a hundred fifty gold marks. All in Cormyrean weight, of course. As with all other catches, two thirds of spoils are yours. What form do you want the payment in?"

"I'll take thirty silver marks and fifteen gold marks. The rest in gold crowns."

"A pleasure doing business with you," Darach smiled, "I'll have your cut in three days. The gems will need to be sold separately to avoid suspicion."

Sadira nodded, "In three days then."

"Aye Tassa, keep this up and you'll be able to retire with quite a fortune. But be careful not to flaunt the coin. Such vanity has led to the downfall of many industrious thieves."

* * *

Sadira walked with an extra spring in her step on the way back to the inn she was staying at. It was a much nicer inn than the one she had stayed at earlier during her stay at Elversult. It was a quiet night. The streets always bustled during the day but there were no such problems during the night.

_One hundred fifty gold marks._ Sadira found herself repeating the figure in her mind and wondered what she would do with so much coin at her disposal. Bahram had always hoarded most of his money safely away from the apartment.

_He always claimed I would squander it given the chance. I probably would have too, just to irk him. _Sadira smiled slightly and chuckled at the thought, then her smile broke. _How can I be so callous to the dead? Even if it is Bahram, what is wrong with me?_

Sadira shook her head and increased her pace, eager for sleep and escape from her own morbid thoughts.

When she heard the whistling approach of the dart it was already too late. Sadira felt the impact of the dart as it hit her shoulder only as a pinprick through a haze of dullness. She was still groping to find the dart when she lost feeling her hand. Soon, Sadira found she could not move a muscle. She tried to scream but even that was beyond her. Her eyes were the last thing to go, rapidly losing focus.

Vaguely, Sadira heard footsteps but, for all she could tell, it could have been one man as easily as a dozen and they could have been going in any direction.

"This is the girl?" the voice came suddenly from in front of Sadira and she would have recoiled from it if she could have.

"Aye, she's the one. She murdered her husband in cold blood. Cathal confirmed it himself, she's one of the children." A new surge of terror tore through Sadira. _Who are these people? What children are they talking about?_

"She seems harmless enough to me," said the first voice.

"Keep thinking that, next thing you know she'll split you open hip to shoulder."

"I don't like this."

"You don't have to. You're not even a member yet. If you keep doubting your superiors like this, you never will be."

"You had better be right about this."

"I am. Now let's go before we attract attention." Sadira had a vague sensation that she was falling, but never felt the ground meet her. Then she wondered if she would have felt the ground even if she had fallen.

"At least she can still move without completely losing her balance," said the first man.

"Aye, anyone who sees us will just think we're escorting a drunken lass home."


	14. Bloodstained Paradise

_Bloodstained Paradise_

Ciara stirred slowly. She had woken as the first rays of sun drifted through the open window but had no conception of how long she had lain in bed. Eyes open and awake, but without care. Slowly, she became aware of Kyner's presence. _It can only be him. How long has he been here?_

"Good morning Kyner," she said. The words were soft, and Kyner wasn't even sure he had heard them.

"Good morning," the old warrior replied, sitting up in a chair across from the bed, "did you sleep well?"

Ciara only smiled. Even while asleep, she felt the warmth of Aeterveris in her dreams. The song had never left her as she walked in woods of silver trees.

"Will we be staying here long?" she asked after a moment.

"We have a long road Ciara." Ciara sat up rigidly in her bed, her eyes pleading. "But we will need to stay here a few days. The sanctuary we were originally going to is no longer safe."

"Is it because of Bhaalspawn?"

"I believe so."

"Well," Ciara rested her back against her bed's numerous pillows, "now is as good a time as any to tell me more of what I am."

"Verily," said Kyner as he leaned forward, "I already told you that you are a mortal daughter of Bhaal. I did not tell you that Bhaal spawned his progeny in order to be sacrificed by his priests in a ritual that would resurrect him."

"Obviously something went wrong," Ciara commented.

Kyner nodded, "there was a harper named Gorion. He managed to find a temple of Bhaal where numerous Bhaalspawn had been gathered to be sacrificed. Gorion assaulted the temple before the ritual could be completed with a company of harpers and other allies."

"You were there?"

"I was. We had no idea that there were so many children, neither did we have any idea to what extremes the priests of Bhaal would go. I have taken part in many battles but none of them prepared me for the atrocities I saw committed within that temple. The screams that resounded through the temple as the priests of Bhaal began the... sacrifices continue to haunt my dreams."

Ciara thought of the paintings she had drawn: raped women, slaughtered children, and slain knights.

"It was a hard fight. Many of the children were slaughtered. Others escaped or were carried off. A few of us barely managed to escape with two children, yourself and a boy Gorion took into his care."

"You couldn't have been more than two years old and I was old enough that an end to my adventures seemed appealing. I often dreamt of finding a community untouched by war, marrying, having a family, and becoming a farmer. Only part of that dream came true though.

"Gorion told me that I needed to find a safe place to raise you. So I brought you to Keep Noatun. I could think of no place more secluded. A keep in the frozen north surrounded by thick pine woods and only accessible through a river that is frozen for most of the year."

"Something happened to Noatun?" Ciara asked intently.

Kyner nodded slowly, "It was destroyed within the past few days by Frost Giants."

Ciara's mouth fell open and her eyes spoke her horror. Kyner tried not to show it, but he was genuinely relieved by her response.

"Is that kind of thing going to happen wherever I stay?" Ciara sputtered.

Kyner nodded sadly, "We can stay here a few days, but no longer."

* * *

Kyner's words haunted Ciara as she tried to enjoy the sun and the woods. _Wherever I go. _She leaned on the railing of a platform on one of the taller trees. From it, Ciara could see many of the silver-barked trees and watch the elves go about their business.

The elves Ciara watched seemed at peace. While that should have been a comfort it only dismayed Ciara more. Despite her continued unease, Aeterveris was undeniably tranquil. _How can I be so burdened when there is such calm about me? _

_No, the answer is simple, I will wreck that calm. I should not have tried to stay. I can't allow myself to endanger more lives. Nothing can give me the right to do anything so selfish._

Ciara took another moment to look down on the forest of silver-barked trees before she walked to a bridge that would eventually lead back to the chambers that the elves had given them.

Ciara felt better having made up her mind, and some of the wood's tranquility began to seep back into her. Ciara slowed her walk and let the song sink into memory.

Then the peace ended. Ciara heard a piercing scream and turned to see a number of large winged creatures descending from the tree tops.

"Wyverns!" Ciara heard an elf shout. A shout that was echoed many times over. But the wyverns were undeniably heading toward Ciara and she felt very exposed on the narrow bridge. The first wyvern came to the bridge and stabbed at the girl with a barbed tail. Ciara avoided losing her head but got a closer look at the tail's venomous barbs than she would have cared for. Ciara ran as the creature hovered in place and tried to stab at her again.

_If only I hadn't left Aitana–no, it wouldn't have made a difference. Not against these things._

Arrows pierced the wings of the wyvern attacking Ciara and the creature veered away. Looking down the bridge, Ciara saw that a number of elven archers had appeared on the platform she was running towards. Once Ciara made it to the platform the wyverns redoubled their efforts.

A wyvern struck one of the archers in the chest with its barbed tail and the young elf collapsed. The wound was not deep but the archer convulsed violently before he simply stopped. Ciara shuddered. _All my fault._

An archer struck a wyvern in the eye with a good shot and the creature fell lifelessly, but one of the wyvern's companions took its revenge, and the offending archer's head, with its talons. Then, an axe flew from somewhere behind Ciara to strike the vengeful wyvern in its back and carve out its spine before erupting from the creature's neck to return to its thrower. Ciara followed the flight of the axe back to where Kyner had thrown it from.

"You three," Kyner shouted at the elves closest to Ciara, "get my ward someplace safe."

Ciara began to protest but then realized how useless she had been in the fight so far. At Kyner's command the same three elves immediately hurried Ciara down the spiral stairs that encircled the great tree.

Kyner turned to the wyverns. There were only three of them left.

Kyner hurled his axe at one of the wyverns and ran to join the five remaining archers. The axe did its work, cutting a wing from the wyvern and sending it down to join its fallen companions.

A wyvern dived forward to impale an archer with its barbed tail but Kyner prevented that by cutting off the wyvern's tail with his long sword. The creature reeled in pain before it was perforated by arrows and sent to the forest floor. Another wyvern fell upon an archer and the elf barely avoided having his chest torn open. Kyner decapitated the wyvern with his long sword before it could escape. The final wyvern tried to fly away but didn't make it far before it was shot down.

Kyner should have been relieved but something was wrong. _The fight ended too quickly. Wyverns, even trained wyverns, made poor assassins. Whoever sent them must have known that. They did not even try to pursue Ciara._

Kyner didn't like the only possible answer.

"Where did those warriors take Ciara?" Kyner questioned the closest of the remaining archers.

"Probably to one of our shelters–"

"Take me to the closest one then." The elf began to say something then stopped, intimidated by Kyner's suddenly grim countenance.

* * *

"Where are we?" Ciara asked. The question had altered in form but never in substance. Countless times as the three elves hurried her down stairs and across bridges she had asked the question 'where are we going?' The elves hadn't answered her then and they didn't answer her now.

Ciara had taken their silence as simple preoccupation before but it made no sense now. They were in a room with a few beds as well as chests and a table, all of which were tucked against the walls and left the center of the room empty.

The elves had motioned Ciara to enter the room and now stood at the door. They watched her now and said nothing. Their eyes were so empty. Ciara was overcome with a sense of dread much stronger than when she had seen the wyverns approaching. Now she was trapped.

It only took the elves seconds to nock and fire their bows. Ciara dodged the first arrow, the second one missed, but Ciara heard a dull thud and then felt a sharp pain as the third arrow pierced her shoulder.

The elves dropped their bows and drew their scimitars, then began to slowly make their way to Ciara. The girl struggled to maintain some kind of fighting stance but rapidly grew faint. She sagged against a chest on the floor and the three elves closed in around her.

* * *

Bohdan felt uneasy. He had watched the elves hurry Ciara into one of their tree-rooms and didn't trust the eagerness in their strides. Something was wrong. Every instinct told him that.

It was also instinct that told him he should slip into the room where they had taken Ciara rather than barging in as he was sure Kyner would have done. He was careful to quietly close the door behind himself.

Bohdan damned the elves for not letting him carry his short swords when he saw what was taking place inside. The fool girl had collapsed on the other side of the room, an arrow lodged in her shoulder.

Three elves slowly approached her with drawn scimitars. Their bows lay at the entrance. Bohdan smiled at the mistake as he took up one of bows.

The elf who stood in the middle raised his scimitar to bring it down on Ciara. He had no idea what hit him, nor the time to think about it, when the arrow perforated the back of his skull. Bohdan dropped the bow and slipped into the shadows.

The other two elves turned and began to search the small room. Bohdan waited for one of them to come near, then waited for him to turn his back, before he slipped a garrote cord around the elf's neck and tightened the noose.

Bohdan's stealth was certainly blown by the choked screams of the dying elf. This was proven by the fact that the only surviving elf was rapidly approaching Bohdan with a raised scimitar. The assassin wasted no time, pulling a concealed dagger from one of his boots and letting another fall from his sleeve.

Bohdan leapt forward to plunge his daggers into the elf but his attack was sidestepped and the elf quickly wheeled about and made a neat slice across Bohdan's back.

* * *

Ciara opened her eyes and all of her senses recoiled in disgust. She struggled onto her feet and felt a warm sticky substance on her hands and face where she had lain. It was difficult to see in the dim light but Ciara was certain that it was blood on her hands.

Slowly, the land took definition and Ciara saw what it was she had recoiled from. She had awoken in a field of broken, mangled and torn bodies. There were no landmarks, no hills or ravines, just a field of death as far as the eye could see beneath a grey sky.

"Welcome Child of Bhaal," the words were spoken in a thousand voices, resonant and dreadful. Ciara whirled about to find the source of the voice but failed to see anything that might have spoken to her.

"Who are you?" asked Ciara, desperation gripping her voice.

"We have been waiting for you," the voices resounded and slowly faded. This time Ciara realized what had been speaking. Impossibly, the mouths of the mangled bodies were moving, speaking. Ciara suppressed a shudder.

"What do you want? Why have you brought me here?" she asked.

"We did not bring you here. You came to us. Need brought you to us. We know what it is you will face when you awaken, and you will need our help if you are to beat it."

"I can fight well enough," Ciara proudly retorted.

"Yes, we know this. Your guardian taught you well, in fist and foot as well as in blades. But that knowledge will not avail you. You are poisoned and your physical prowess is quite useless. Use your instinct, and you will survive. Ignore it, and you will die. We cannot make you do anything. It is your choice."

Ciara blinked and found herself crumpled against a chest in the room the elves had led her to. Two elves now lay dead on the floor. The only standing elf was crossing over to where Ciara was laying. Ciara tried to stand, to grab the sword of the dead elf that lay before her, but it was no use. Only her eyes responded to her commands.

The final elf looked down on Ciara with soulless eyes and raised his scimitar.

_Stop._

A look of confusion spread across the face of the elf and he lowered his scimitar. Then anger replaced confusion and the elf made to finish Ciara. No, it was not the elf that was resisting, something else was controlling that body.

_Cease._

Ciara thought that she could see it. Her will, a battering ram knocking on the gates that guarded her opponent's will. But it was not the elf that was defending the will. Something else held the keys. But a battering ram held little regard for keys or locks. The elf frantically tried to cut Ciara down. But he seemed to be pushing the sword through a palpable barrier.

_DESIST._

Ciara gave the battering ram its final push and the gates shattered. The elf's mind was laid bare. Where once there had been anger and confusion, there was now single minded determination and even glee as the elf raised his scimitar high and plunged it into his own heart.

* * *

Kyner barged into the elven sanctuary at a heedless run, the elves accompanying him only a few steps behind. _It is as I feared. No, it is worse. _

Bohdan lay in a pool of his own blood. Ciara sat crumpled against a chest with an arrow stuck in her shoulder but otherwise unharmed. Most disconcerting were the two elves directly in front of Ciara. One had an arrow perforating the back of his head, which was explicable. The other looked to have run himself through.

Kyner wasted no time going to Ciara's side. The girl's head lolled when Kyner approached. Her eyes were open but distant, her breathing slow and strained, her hands trembling. Kyner examined the arrow, the fletchings were green. It was an acid arrow and had not completely pierced her shoulder.

As he had done a hundred times before, Kyner carefully retrieved the arrow and thanked Helm that the tip was not barbed.

"These two are still alive," said an elven archer.

"Then get them both to the healers and keep it that way!" barked Kyner. The elves hurried to carry the bodies away as Kyner fumbled for an antidote.

At last he pulled a green flask from his satchel, uncapped it, tilted back Ciara's head, and slowly began to empty the contents into her mouth. She gagged and coughed for a moment, then eagerly accepted the liquid. The action almost seemed conscious, but Kyner dismissed the notion and gave Ciara more of the liquid until the flask was empty.

Ciara sagged for a moment, then her body was racked by a series of torturous coughs and she finally pitched forward, Kyner kept her from slamming her head onto the floor, and heaved a putrid frothing liquid onto the floor, which began to eat away at the wood.

Kyner picked up Ciara and laid her onto a bed. Her eyes started to regain their focus. Letting out a sigh of relief, Kyner pulled a healing salve from one of his belt pouches and applied it to the wound that the arrow had made. The arrow had not been designed to be deadly in and of itself. It was meant only as a carrier for the poison. Ciara's breathing evened out and Kyner released another breath before sitting down on the bed next to the one he placed Ciara on.

"Your girl caused all of this?" a voice boomed into the room. Kyner surged to his feet.

Mahtan stood at the door. "I should have suspected as much. Should have known that a Child of Murder could not be allowed to live. I will not make the same mistake twice."

"I do not want to fight you Mahtan," said Kyner, "but I will not allow you to harm my girl."

"Your girl? You are a fool Kyner. She is not your girl and never can be. She is Bhaalspawn! You like to think of yourself as her father but that is a role you can never take. Even she knows it. Why do you defend her? You should have slain her yourself."

"Gorion–"

"Gorion is dead!" shouted Mahtan.

Kyner was stunned but resumed with more resolve, "Gorion believed that these children could be saved and I will not abandon Ciara to you or to anyone."

"So be it," said Mahtan and he strode forward.

Kyner drew his long sword to defend his ward. The next moment was a blur.

When Kyner recovered his sight he was lying on the floor staring down the blade of his long sword, Mahtan was holding it.

Kyner shoved the blade away with a gauntleted hand and lunged at Mahtan but collapsed during the lunge.

The warrior doubled over, clutching his chest. Kyner's heart felt as if it were being crushed. Every beat was agony and salvation, standing up with an iron slab on your back only to have it crush you again.

Kyner clenched his teeth, opened his eyes and rose. Facing Mahtan, he drew his axe and steadily walked toward him, walked through a tunnel of agony to end the pain.

_Enough!_ The word was flat and unaffected to Kyner, and it took him a moment to realize it had been a voice. The pain faded and Kyner straightened as he found himself a few yards in front of Mahtan.

Nearly a dozen guardsmen stood behind Mahtan with nocked arrows, all of them trained on Kyner.

"What do you have to say that is worth hearing, Bhaalspawn?" questioned Mahtan.

"Kyner," said Ciara, "if Mahtan wants me dead then I am marked. Even you can't win this one Kyner. Not without an army. Just . . . just go."

"You know that won't happen," replied Kyner, and he continued to stare stonily at Mahtan.

"Damn you Kyner hasn't enough blood already been spilled on my account?"

"Silence!" shouted Mahtan. Content that he had their attention, he continued, "Now I want to know why so many of my loyal guardsmen are dead. Why did you kill them?"

"They attacked me," Ciara responded. "I didn't kill any of them though."

"You're lying."

"Ciara was unconscious the entire time," Kyner said, "she couldn't have killed any of them. Bohdan Gyles, the man traveling with us, somehow must have known what was happening, he seemed to have dealt with them but was injured in the process."

"How do you explain that?" questioned Mahtan, pointing to the corpse that looked to have gutted itself.

"Why don't you ask your own?" returned Kyner.

"What do you mean?" Mahtan asked.

"There were three elves involved in this. These two were killed but another was still alive. Perhaps you should ask him."

Mahtan nodded, "Very well then, we shall wait for him to recover. You will be confined to your chambers until I see fit to execute or release you."

"And what of Bohdan?" asked Kyner.

"He will be returned to your chambers as soon as he has healed."

_You must leave. They are coming._ The presence of a great army filled Ciara's mind, slowly marching down from the Dagger Rise Peaks to the east. So many of them: orcs, ogres, giants, ettins, trolls, and something worse. Something that controlled all of them. Forced them to obey in joyful thralldom.

"Let us go," plead Ciara, "the ones who destroyed Noatun are coming here."

"Giants? They would not dare enter _my_ realm. Besides, they could hardly fell our trees."

"I did not say that giants were coming," warned Ciara.

"Silence yourself, girl," Mahtan turned to the guards arrayed behind him, "take these two to their quarters and keep them under guard."


	15. Waiting

_Waiting_

The elves had been kinder than Ciara thought they would have been. Each of the three had been allowed to keep their separate rooms, but every door, the hallway and the windows were guarded. Bohdan kept to himself after his return. Even when Ciara had attempted to thank him for what he had done, Bohdan had angrily told her to leave.

So now Ciara sat with Kyner in his chambers. The girl showed no ill-effects from the poisoned arrow and Kyner was relieved by that, if nothing else. Neither of them spoke for a long time but Ciara finally broke the silence.

"What are we going to do?"

Kyner laughed mirthlessly, "I've been asking myself that question since I saw you crumpled against that chest. You gave me quite a scare."

"So did you. Trying to fight an entire army is quite the death wish."

"Fighting Mahtan alone is quite the death wish," Kyner murmured.

"Is he that powerful?" asked Ciara.

"Never underestimate an elf. Mahtan must be over six centuries old. No one lives that long without learning some skills."

"Was he ever a warrior?"

"No," Kyner shook his head, "Mahtan needs focus in order to be effective. Such focus is impossible to maintain in a pitched battle and only works well against single opponents. Mahtan is a lord first, but is still a formidable adversary. However, we have other things to discuss."

"Well, we seem to have plenty of time-"

"No," said Kyner, "we have much less time than we need. We simply cannot use it. But, I need to tell you that our situation has gotten much worse."

"What's happened?"

"Gorion, the man I told you of earlier. He was a mage far wiser than I. I met with him not long ago and we decided that we should try and consolidate. You and I were to meet Gorion and his ward at Scornubel.

"Two things have gone wrong with this plan. I learned last night that Scornubel was laid to waste and I learned just hours ago that Gorion himself is dead."

Ciara was getting tired of surprises, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did." Kyner's tone was more than a little dismissive, and this annoyed Ciara more than the evasion.

"You know what I meant."

"Sorry," said Kyner, "for a time you seemed so peaceful. I didn't want to sully that."

Ciara thought back to the morning and the night before. It had been pleasant. The dreams had been like none she had known before. "So Gorion is dead, what about his ward?"

"I know nothing of the ward's fate, but I suspect he is still alive. Mahtan told me that Baldur's Gate is still reasonably safe but it would not surprise me if even that has changed. Still, Baldur's Gate remains better than no destination at all. But it is still a long road."

"Can you show me?" asked Ciara. Kyner smiled at Ciara's interest and retrieved a large canvas map from his satchel then laid it out on the floor.

"This," Kyner pointed at what looked to be a green blotch near the very top of the map, "is the Aeterveran wood. This is where we came from," and he pointed at a black dot within a smaller green blotch to the north-east of the first green blotch. "And this is where we're going," Kyner's finger went an agonizing distance down the map to end at a black dot much larger than the one indicating Noatun. Ciara then realized what a pathetically small distance they had managed to travel.

"A long road," Ciara said the words slowly, "I think that is the greatest understatement I have ever heard you make. Just thinking of the distance makes me want to take a nap."

"Do not worry," said Kyner, "most of the journey will not be overland. First we must make our way to Hreispell," and Kyner pointed to a black dot worlds closer than the one labeled Baldur's Gate. "From there we can get what supplies we need and join a caravan that is going south."

"Why would we join a caravan?"

"Because the road will be dangerous."

"Why can't anything be easy?" Ciara asked of no one in particular.

"We will have to travel through a part of the world so perilous that very few are willing to brave it at any time of the year. Since Hreispell rapidly proceeds through autumn, many merchants will be wanting to leave, or else be trapped in a region where there is little or no coin to be made all winter."

Ciara considered Kyner's words. Kyner and others had taught her that other parts of the world were considerably warmer than the place in which she had grown. That was not terribly surprising but she had trouble imagining it.

Kyner continued without noticing Ciara's reverie, "They also know it is a dangerous road, and will want as many to travel with them as possible. Many of these merchants will be dwarves from Mithral Hall. They are a hardy folk, and worthy of respect. The road to Mithral Hall will be short in distance but long in hardships." Ciara didn't like the sound of that last part.

"Then things will get easier. From Mithral Hall we will take a river boat to Luskan. Luskan is uninviting to travelers but I have connections there so we should have no problems. From Luskan we will take a ship to Neverwinter and then board another ship, if possible, bound for Baldur's Gate. If we cannot find a ship at Neverwinter going to Baldur's Gate we will take a ship to Waterdeep and then find one going to Baldur's Gate."

"Why not try and find a ship going from Luskan to Baldur's Gate?"

"Because it will be hard enough to find a ship in Luskan that is not a pirate ship. It will be nearly impossible to find a ship at Luskan that is crewed by honest men. We stand a much better chance of finding a decent crew at Neverwinter."

Ciara examined the map and saw that no rivers went from Mithral Hall to Neverwinter.

Ciara's finger traced along the coast. "I've never seen the ocean before."

"You will." The words were simple but carried the weight of an oath. Then Kyner asked the question that had been haunting him, "how did you know that the destroyers of Noatun were coming here?"

It took Ciara a moment to think of how to explain it, "I could feel them, like a weight bearing down on my mind, and I could see them, but only vaguely, like looking at something under water. It's not distinct, but it was clear enough to know what they were."

"And what were they?"

"Orcs, ogres, trolls, giants, and others."

Kyner nodded, "You're sure they're coming here?"

"They're coming for me. Hunting me. But, they want to consume everything in their path. The dark thing is feeding their appetites."

"Dark thing?"

Ciara spoke and hoped that what she said made some kind of sense, "I could feel something lording over them. I couldn't see it. I didn't want to see it. It was so dark. Dark and cruel."

A new thought occurred to Ciara, "Maybe, I didn't really feel anything. That thing, maybe it showed me what it wanted me to see."

Then they heard an explosion followed by the ringing of steel in the distance. Kyner's face was drawn in alarm.

"I don't think they're here yet," said Ciara. Kyner only nodded and the noise stopped soon thereafter. Not very much was said.

It was over an hour later when the door opened and Mahtan stepped through. He still bore the grim countenance he had worn during his last meeting with the two but had apparently laid the anger to rest. He wore a suit of elven mail and a long sword hung from his side. Kyner stood immediately.

"Things have changed," said the elven lord as he stepped through the door and closed it. "I am sorry that I acted rashly before. I foolishly allowed myself to be blinded by a veil of anger." Kyner seemed to relax a little at the admission.

"You were right Kyner, the elves you fought earlier were mine, bound by powerful spells but not necessarily geas spells. The same was true of the elves who attacked Ciara. The creature that cast those spells attempted to influence me as well. It amplified my mistrust of all outsiders and fed my anger. The creature had hoped I would kill both of you out of fear and blind rage.

"But after I had you sent away and my anger subsided I began to feel that something was wrong. Looking within myself, I saw something else staring back at me. The creature quickly retreated from my mind after realizing its mistake but did not withdraw quickly enough for its own sake.

"I took a dozen of my best warriors into the undergrowth where it had secluded itself. The creature was a rakshasa, and more powerful than I had expected. We killed it but the fight cost me seven of my warriors. I find I must thank you Kyner. In spite of all the trouble you and your ward have caused me, you have indirectly helped me to eliminate a great threat within my own lands."

Kyner and Ciara were surprised and watched Mahtan expectantly.

"The two of you, as well as your companion, are free to go. I will provide immediate transport for you to Hreispell. You must leave quickly, many of the other lords of Aeterveris believe that I should detain you further."

"Could I ask something of you Lord Mahtan?" requested Ciara.

"Yes, child," Mahtan replied.

"You told Kyner that Gorion had been slain. Do you know what happened to his ward?"

"I heard of Gorion's fate from a friend I have within the harpers. Gorion was one of them and they have taken a keen interest in the affairs of the Bhaalspawn. It would not surprise me if you hear from them. All I know is that there are two other harpers, friends of Gorion, that are searching for him. They have had no success that I am aware of. But this news is several days old.

"There are other problems surrounding the Baldur's Gate region as well. Banditry has become a severe problem, they are attacking nearly all caravans that enter the region."

Kyner nodded and turned to Ciara, "Tell Bohdan what's happened and get ready to leave." Ciara nodded and quickly left the room.

Kyner spoke again once the door had closed, "Now, tell me what you didn't want to say in front of Ciara."

"You haven't lost your perception old friend," said Mahtan. "Your girl was right. The destroyers of Noatun are coming here. And, as Ciara said, there are more than just Giants in their army. My scouts report their numbers at around seven thousand, mainly orcs. "

"What are you going to do?"

"I have decided to send you and Ciara on your way to Hreispell. We will slow down the enemy as much as we can."

"That is insane. You have less than a thousand warriors, not nearly enough to repel the enemy horde."

"You are right there. We cannot repel them, we can only try and give you and Ciara all the time we can." Mahtan's face grew more intent, "Kyner, I have thought much on this. I do not know what fate has in store for Ciara but it is obvious that the Bhaalspawn will be instrumental in shaping the course that Faerun is to take for quite some time.

"Your girl, she is troubled but shows promise. I believe she can make a significant difference in the times to come. Aeterveris is a small price to pay compared to what may happen if Bhaalspawn, such as the one hunting Ciara now, are the ones who decide the fate of the world."

"You," Kyner stumbled over his words, "you truly intend to engage that Bhaalspawn's army? You will be crushed, all of Aeterveris will be put to the torch! Do you really expect the rest of your people to go along with this?"

"I do not. They will have their chance to flee. The enemy still has five days of marching before it will reach us and I plan to announce my decision as soon as you are on your way. Anyhow, I do not think that the Bhaalspawn has any intention of leaving Aeterveris be. We are far too tempting a target for a rampaging army.

"Before I leave you, there is one last thing I must say. I said many things at our last meeting that I will regret for what little remains of my life. By far the worst thing I did was to tell you that Ciara could never be your girl, and that you were a fool for thinking so. Now I can see that you have far more sway over her than her own father can ever hope for."

"May it be so," prayed Kyner.

"Now I must go, and so should you. Selinde will be along presently to escort you and your party until you reach Hreispell. I suggest you get ready before your companions must wait on you."

It only took Kyner a few seconds to throw his things together and leave the room. As he expected, Bohdan and Ciara were already outside. A young elven woman–she couldn't have been any older than one hundred fifty years–had been leaning against the doorframe and suddenly straightened when Kyner pulled the door open.

Kyner thought he had seen a look of annoyance on her face, by now it had vanished. Then he recognized her. Selinde, Mahtan had called her, she was the same one who had shown Kyner to his room only yesterday. Kyner was certain that this was no coincidence. _Damn you Mahtan what are you up to?_

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Kyner grumbled, "we need to get moving."


	16. Progress

_Progress_

Saunder and Imoen walked through the tunnels of the Naskel mines in a half-crouch, Saunder leading the way and holding a torch with his shield arm, the dim light from it glinted off the plate mail armor he had purchased with Bassilus' bounty.

"I think we've gone too far," Imoen said, "we should go back and find Branwen and Kivan."

"Hold on," Saunder said, "there's a light up ahead."

The height of the tunnel ceiling began to rise until the two adventurers were able to stand up straight. Saunder hefted his war hammer as the tunnel turned. Having expected to find more kobolds, Saunder was surprised when the tunnel opened up into a room with a replete with cushions, a coal brazier lit the chamber. A burly half-orc lazed on the cushions, a heavy flail and buckler lying beside him. The monstrous creature stirred as Saunder and Imoen entered the room, wary of any traps the half-orc might have lain.

"How did you get in here?" The words were half said and half grunted by the half-orc as it stood. "Did the half-ogre send you? All iron leaving this place is tainted and still Mulahey is to be killed!"

"So you're the one who's been causing all the trouble here," Saunder accused, brandishing the war hammer Ashideena.

"You didn't know I rule this place?" Mulahey grunted, "then you cannot be with him."

Saunder heard the yipping of kobolds echoing through the tunnels, and then the sounds of battle, Brawen's battle cry rose above the clamor.

"You're not alone . . ." Mulahey said and then snatched up his flail and buckler, "It matters not, you die here!"

Mulahey dashed forward with astonishing speed and swung his flail. Saunder attempted to block the flail with his shield but misjudged the flail's arc and the spiked ball smashed his shoulder. Saunder could only feel a dull, throbbing pain from his shoulder while he could feel nothing from the rest of his arm, which hung uselessly.

Saunder clenched his teeth and backed up as Mulahey swung down heavily with his flail. The spiked ball fell onto the ground at Saunder's feet and the paladin swung his hammer at Mulahey while the half-orc was recovering from his swing. Ashideena's spike dug into Mulahey's side but the half-orc betrayed no sign of pain and swung even more savagely than before.

Although Saunder managed to parry the flail, the force of the blow caused him to stagger. Taking full advantage of his opponent's discomfiture, the half-orc ruthlessly brought his flail down upon Saunder.

Saunder's desperate parry kept the spiked ball of Mulahey's flail from crushing his skull, but his hammer's shaft became entangled in the flail's chain. The paladin struggled to free his weapon as the half-orc laughed. Mulahey let out a cry of pain and surprise when Imoen stabbed him from behind, then hurriedly wrenched his flail away from its grapple with Ashideena.

Saunder, seeing his opportunity, swung Ashideena with as much force as he could muster. The hammer's head struck Mulahey's chest and an electric discharge shook the half-orc's body. Before Saunder could pull his hammer back for another attack, Mulahey struck him with the flail. Saunder splat blood and fell backwards as his vision reeled.

Mulahey whirled on Imoen and the girl drove her short sword into the half-orc's gut up to the hilt. Imoen wasn't sure exactly what happened in the next moment. But when her vision returned she found herself slumped against a wall, feeling as if thousands of needles were piercing her lungs with every breath.

* * *

"Go!" shouted Kivan as he stunned one kobold by slamming the blunt end of his spear into its face and then impaled another with the weapon's more dangerous end.

Branwen wasted no time for words and ran from the chamber she and Kivan had been clearing. The warrior-priestess was loath to leave Kivan to fight so many enemies, even though she knew he had faced more dangerous opponents in greater numbers before.

Saunder and Imoen, she knew, had not. The strangled cries she and Kivan had heard were testament to that. Branwen entered Mulahey's chamber to see the massive spiked ball of the half-orc's flail slam into Imoen's gut and send her against the wall.

With a yell, the warrior-priestess brandished her mace and charged at the half-orc. Mulahey turned to see her approach and laughed as he brought his flail down upon her. Branwen shunted the blow aside with her heater shield and put all of her strength behind a swing of her mace.

The half-orc blocked with his shield, but the shoddy buckler was rent apart when its boss gave way to Branwen's mace. While Mulahey recovered, Branwen landed a savage blow upon his chest.

Branwen expected the half-orc to fall. Instead, Mulahey looked down on Branwen with renewed anger and, with speed that surprised Branwen, stepped forward and clutched Branwen by the throat. Mulahey chuckled as he stared into the warrior-priest's fear-filled eyes and began to squeeze.

Branwen was struggling to stay conscious when she realized she had dropped her mace but saw a sword imbedded in Mulahey's chest. This time Branwen surprised Mulahey by grabbing the sword's hilt and violently twisting the weapon.

Mulahey let out an agonized cry as he dropped Branwen, who, thankful that she could still breathe, fell coughing onto her knees. Mulahey tore the sword out of himself and threw it aside, then he stepped forward, brandishing his flail, and prepared to rend apart Branwen's skull.

An arrow struck Mulahey in the chest and stunned him long enough for Branwen to seize her mace and strike the half-orc's kneecap. Howling in pain, the Mulahey collapsed to the ground and Branwen swiftly flattened Mulahey's head with no less than three solid hits. Wearily, she dropped the mace and tried to recover her breath.

Branwen barely heard Kivan's approach.

"You fight well priestess," Kivan said. Branwen looked up to see the ranger offering his hand, she took it and staggered to her feet.

The priestess looked at the two young adventurers. Imoen was certainly the worst off so Branwen made her way to her first. She was relieved to hear the girl still breathing, if the ragged gasps she drew in could be called breath.

There was little visible damage but Branwen knew that weapons such as flails were intended to bash and crush, not tear or cut. Most of the damage would be inside, making the healing more difficult but not impossible

"How can I help?" Kivan asked.

"Take these," Branwen said, handing Kivan a few healing potions, "give them to Saunder but don't give him so much that he chokes." Kivan nodded his understanding and attended to the task with the brevity that characterized him.

Saunder awoke with a start and saw with relief that he was no longer in the cavern with the maddened half-orc. Instead he woke on a modest bed in a well-lit room. An autumnal breeze drifted in from open windows and Saunder allowed himself to fall back onto the bed.

Dimly, he remembered the half-orc's flail that had shattered his breastbone with enough force to send him against the cavern wall. The dull memory of pain still resided in the back of his head where it had struck the wall. The paladin's chest and left arm ached but such aches were certainly preferable to keeping the wounds he knew he had sustained.

It was some time before Saunder pulled himself out of bed and walked to the window. There he recognized the streets of Nashkel. Saunder saw his weapons and armor piled into a corner of the room. The plate mail he had recently purchased from Taerom Fuiruim was dented but repairable. The door opened and the lack of audible footsteps told Saunder that Kivan had entered the room.

"Hello friend," said Saunder as he turned to face the ranger. Kivan's spear and bow were slung across his back and the elf still wore his boiled leather jerkin and mail bracers. "Is everyone else all right?"

"No," Kivan said, matter of factly, "Imoen was wounded worse than you were but is recovering. Branwen believes that she may need another day or so before she is well enough to travel again."

"Was Branwen hurt during the fight?"

"Only slightly, but she recovered quickly. There is something I must tell you," Kivan's voice dropped lower, "I found a few letters in Mulahey's chest stating that Mulahey had a contact in Beregost named Tranzig."

"Tranizg, the one who trapped Branwen in stone?"

"The same, when I made the mistake of showing her the letters it was all I could do to keep her from charging to Beregost and making short work of him. Also, it appears Mulahey was acting on orders from Tazok."

"The same Tazok who sent Karlat. So Mulahey is in league with the bandits."

"Mulahey and his kobolds ensured that no useable iron could leave the Nashkel mines while the bandits ensured that no iron could approach Balder's Gate by the roads."

"Why iron? It doesn't seem like a very profitable commodity for bandits to target."

"It isn't. I suspect there is someone pulling the strings of both Mulahey and the bandits. And whoever that person is, he must be very wealthy."

"You said that Tranzig was in Beregost?" Saunder asked.

"Yes, at Feldepost's Inn," Kivan replied, "though I do not know for how long."

_My only lead is in Beregost and may leave at any moment, and Imoen will need days to recover._

"Kivan, I want you and Branwen to go to Beregost and find Tranzig then come back with whatever information you acquire. I'll stay here and watch over Imoen."

"I do not believe this place is safe. Sometime after we brought you to this inn a woman approached me and demanded to see you. I refused and she quickly became more insistent until, at last, she attacked me. I found a scroll on her corpse offering a substantial bounty for you."

"We have to take the risk. Tranzig is too important to let escape."

Kivan nodded, "I am certain Branwen will be eager to get underway. We will return swiftly."

"Before you go, where is Imoen?"

"She is at the Temple of Helm, the priest Nalin is healing her wounds that were beyond Branwen's skill."

* * *

The temple of Helm was easily the largest building in Nashkel and Saunder was certain two of the inns could have occupied the space between the floor and the high, oak-ribbed ceiling. Bracketed torches suffused the temple with a soft orange light. An altar stood at the far end of the temple and the sign of Helm, an eye upon a open-palmed gauntlet, was etched into the stone wall behind it.

A man wearing full armor with a mace girt at his side stood by the altar and faced Saunder when he entered the Temple.

"You are the one who lead the party that defeated Mulahey," the man said. The comment surprised Saunder, who had never thought of himself as a leader. "I am Nalin, servant of the Vigilant One, and I understand that you are a man of faith yourself."

"I am a paladin of Tyr," Saunder replied.

"The god of justice. . . you are welcome here. I understand you are here to see your companion. Follow me."

Nalin led Saunder through a door at the back of the temple and down a short hallway, stopping at one of the doors along the hall.

"She is within," Nalin said, "her wounds are healed but she needs time to recover her strength."

"There is something I must tell you Nalin. Imoen and I have been attacked by bounty hunters before–"

"Kivan already warned me of that," Nalin interrupted, "you may stay here for as long as you like. I promise you, this temple is secure." With that the priest turned and walked back to the chapel.

Saunder opened the door. Imoen lay on a bed, breathing deeply; the oil lamp sitting on the night stand illuminated her pale countenance. The room was cramped and windowless. Saunder sat down on the chair across from the bed and waited.

* * *

Footsteps. Saunder stirred, shaking his head to doff the weariness as he stood. The door opened, admitting only a little more light than the oil lamp provided. Saunder placed a ready hand on his war hammer then removed it when Nalin stepped through the door.

"Saunder," the priest said, "come, there is someone who wants to see you."

"Who is it?" Saunder asked, suspicious, as he followed the priest into the corridor.

"You need not fear him," Nalin replied.

When Saunder stepped back into the chapel he saw a man armored in plate mail kneeling before the altar; he cradled a helm with his left arm and bore a great sword in a leather baldric across his back. After a moment the man rose and faced Saunder, his eyes shone with intensity.

"You are Saunder, the one who cleansed the Nashkel mines, I am honored to meet you." The armored man stepped forward and extended his hand to Saunder, who shook it warily.

"And you are?"

"I am Ajantis Ilvastarr, knight errant of Helm and squire-paladin of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart. I have come to this region seeking to end the banditry that has plagued it, and in doing so become worthy of full admittance to the Order. I understand that you are a paladin yourself and I offer my services as both companion and mentor. Although we follow different gods, I am certain my knowledge will be of use to you."

Saunder nodded, "I gladly welcome your help Ajantis. Now, allow me to tell you what we've learned."


	17. The Last Lord of Aeterveris

_The Last Lord of Aeterveris_

Mahtan sat in his high-backed chair in the hall of lords within the oldest of the silver trees of Aeterveris. He was tired of waiting and his fears slowly built._ It is not too late. I can still retreat with what remains of my people. I can at least see my daughter one more time before the end._ Most of the Aeterverans had already fled, along with all of the other lords save himself.

Mahtan's hand clutched the hilt of the long sword Vastaur as if it were his only tie to life. The Elven Lord stood from his seat and left the chamber to stand on the platform outside. _I will not flee._

From here, the tallest and oldest of trees, he could survey all of Aeterveris, silver trees gleaming in the starlight. Mahtan could only hope that the destroyers would leave some of them. The woods had gone silent and Mahtan sensed that it knew what was about to befall as well, and perhaps better, than he did.

Mahtan stood on the platform for a long time. Taking in his domain for the last time. As he did so, he could slowly begin to hear the whispers of the trees and the soft music of their breath. And, for a moment, he knew peace again.

"My lord, the enemy is approaching the outer boundaries of our domain."

Mahtan turned to see Rumil, the commander of those who had chosen to remain. "How are they arrayed?"

"Their horde is mostly composed of orcish warriors. There are a number of ogres and giants among the number as well. The orcs are the usual rabble but the ogres are well armored and move in ranks."

"You've done well Rumil. Ready our warriors to strike the enemy from above as we had planned. The traps we've set will slow them but arrows and spells from targets they cannot see will make the press even more difficult for them. Go now, I will join you shortly."

* * *

The battle had gone better than Mahtan had dared hope. The Giants and their enforcers had spent the past several days goading their forces forward or cutting them down if they tried to retreat while archers harried them from above during the day and carried out daring raids during the night.

Elven war wizards never ceased raining all manners of death upon the slow-moving horde: fireballs, ice storms, death and incendiary clouds, chain lightning spells and insect plagues. Even on the nights when raids could not be performed, a few clusters of summoned monsters could stir up the enemy encampment enough to ensure that no one got a decent night's sleep.

The enemy advanced, but paid dearly for every yard gained. Every scroll and arrow within Aeterveris was being put to use and Aeterveran archers made every shot count. Now the enemy was on its final march before it would reach the great silver tree at the heart of Aeterveris. Even now war wizards pummeled the enemy with what spells remained in their memories.

Mahtan looked at the two hundred elven swordsmen arrayed with him before the great tree. Like Mahtan, they were all older (well over five centuries old) and prepared to meet their ends.

Slowly, Mahtan's keen eyes saw the horde coming into view in the distance through the widely spaced trees. _I've bought you several days at a dear price, Kyner. Do not squander my final gift to you._

While Mahtan watched the horde approach, still very far off, he wondered if he could make such a long shot if he still had any arrows. _Likely not with the bow I have used for the past few days. Perhaps if I had Arabor_. Mahtan smiled at the thought of the bow made from the wood of the silver tree he now stood before. _But I have given that weapon to Selinde She will need it more than I in times to come. Certainly, I will not be needing much anymore._

Mahtan was sorry for deceiving his daughter. He had purposefully sent her ahead with Kyner. He knew she would understand his intentions soon enough. The river boat taking them to Hreispell would not reach the city for some time, and elven heralds sent from Aeterveris would arrive before Selinde and tell her what had transpired.

_Selinde will take the proper course._ _She always does._

Rumil, captain of the Aeterveran guard and coordinator of the defenses that had held the horde at bay for nearly a week, rapidly descended the stairs encircling the great tree.

"Lord Mahtan," he said, "the war wizards have depleted their final spells. Shall I have everyone descend?"

"No," said Mahtan, "you have done all you can. Take the archers and wizards away from Aeterveris. We will remain here and give you time to make your escape."

"Lord Mahtan-"

"Go, with haste, and leave this place to song and memory. It will not harbor the living for some time," this time Mahtan's voice bore the weight of a final command.

Rumil nodded, "To song and memory then, you will not be forgotten Lord Mahtan."

"I will be if you do not hurry. Sehanine Moonbow be with you on your journey."

"And may Corellon Larethian guide your sword to the last stroke." With those words Rumil ascended the long stair to perform his final duty to the last Lord of Aeterveris.

* * *

Mahtan had one final surprise for the enemy horde: many of the warriors in his retinue were also mages. Mahtan gave the signal for those mage warriors to begin casting protective spells on the warriors and on themselves. The elven lord began to feel the air shimmer about himself and knew that he was among the first to be protected.

The mages had nearly finished casting the protective spells when the orcs drew close. They had been advancing slowly, for fear of the traps left by the elves. Now the mages began casting mass haste spells and Mahtan felt his blood quicken.

When the orcs saw the elves standing their ground, all fear left them and they blindly charged. Mahtan was glad to see the orcs now hitting the worst and most concentrated of the traps the elves had lain. But more orcs rushed over the bodies of their fallen comrades to join battle.

Now the war mages unleashed the scrolls they had been saving for use on level ground. Mahtan shivered as a cone of cold sailed over his head and unerringly cut a swath through the orcish onslaught. Pristmatic sprays, flame arrows, magic missiles, scorchers and chaos spells followed not far behind. The spells used only became more varied once the mages ran out of scrolls and began casting from memory.

Hundreds of tightly clustered orcs fell before elven magic but they continued to charge recklessly forward. Mahtan brandished Vastaur and led his warriors in a charge that matched the orcs for fury. But while orcs quickly resorted to frenzied hacking, the elves wielded their blades with deadly grace and no swing or thrust was wasted. Orcs howled in pain as they fell to elven steel.

Slowly, the orcs realized that they were losing the fight and their rage faltered. Many tried to run but were either turned back or cut down. Then the orcs who had been trying to urge the others into battle met the elven warriors themselves and turned to flee.

Mahtan watched the beginnings of the orcish retreat with relief. Against a force much larger, he had barely lost fifty warriors. Then he saw the retreat turn to a slaughter, massive figures cut down the orcs as they fled.

Once they had finished with their smaller comrades, the figures walked slowly towards the elves. Mahtan didn't like the look of them. It was difficult to tell exactly what they were, being clad in full plate mail and closed helms, but Mahtan knew them to be the ogre warriors Rumil had warned him of.

The ogres carried all manner of weapons, and their stances said they had been trained to use them to their deadliest potentials. They walked with cold discipline, not the reckless fury of the orcs.

Keeping in tight formation, the ogres never broke ranks even when they met the elves in a bloody clash. The elves fought valiantly, but fell quickly before the skill and might of the ogre warriors. It was not long before the remaining elves, only eight of them now, found themselves back to back and surrounded by a ring of ogre warriors. The massive armored figures did not even appear to be exerting themselves.

Then the ring opened and a figure that dwarfed even the ogres stepped forward. The armored giant stood taller than a tower and twice as thick. Unlike armor worn by humans or even the ogre warriors, the giant's armored plating was considerably more reinforced about the legs than the upper torso.

The giant removed his helm and dropped it onto the ground, shaking the earth and crushing a number of orcs. His skin was a deep shade of blue, nearly as cold as his eyes. Frost bellowed from the giant's mouth with every breath and Mahtan felt the air about him stiffen.

"You harassed my minions for a long time, but fought bravely in the end," the giant said to the elves, "I am Hrungnir, Jarl of the Nastron-" Mahtan ceased listening to the giant, and began watching his eyes. The deceit was apparent. Hrungnir may have been a Jarl. But his success was a front. He was no Bhaalspawn.

"You are a pawn," spat Mahtan.

"You dare?" shouted the giant, and he walked forward with an earth-shaking step, "I will crush you like the worm-"

Hrungnir suddenly silenced himself and lowered his eyes. The ring of ogre warriors dropped their weapons and fell onto both knees with their heads bowed.

Leaves, that Mahtan had never seen the silver trees shed, blackened and fell from the younger trees. The elves could feel the wood recoil in fear, but knew they had no cover. The giant himself fell onto a knee and lowered his head. Mahtan narrowed his eyes beyond the giant.

The horde parted and not a single orc, ogre, or giant raised his eyes as the cloaked figure passed them by. The figure passed Hrungnir, and the giant bowed even lower.

Mahtan drew back when the figure approached him. It could either have been a man or elf and wore a travel-worn and tattered cloak. Pale skin and a tight mouth with bloodless lips were all that was to be seen beneath the cowl.

"So," the man said, "you must be Lord Mahtan. I must say, I was surprised you were able to withstand the western harbinger of my forces for so long. You did well, and I am very impressed. You have helped me to weed out some of the weak ones from my army. As your reward, I give you my leave to go."

Lord Mahtan stared, he had expected a fight to the death. Not his opponent _letting_ him go. "Why," Mahtan started, but could not think of what to ask first.

"You must know," interrupted the man, "I really have very little interest in you or your people. I have another reason for coming here." The man's voice became slightly bemused at the end. And his gaze seemed to leave Mahtan to settle on the great tree that stood behind him.

"She is the mother of all Aeterveris, isn't she?" he asked. His lips curled into an expression Mahtan knew well: _hunger._

Mahtan looked at the man, shocked, "You can't be serious."

"Of course I am," laughed the man as he brushed past the horrified lord of Aeterveris. "We all must feed, mustn't we?"

"You are an abomination!" said Mahtan.

"_DO NOT BLAME ME FOR WHAT I AM!_" shouted the man as he rounded on Mahtan. The elven lord stumbled backwards and fell at the man's approach. "What I have become is a machination of the gods! Blame THEM for what is happening to your precious wood! Consider yourself lucky you do not suffer _my _fate. I have not known the succor of food or drink for years. Pray you never understand what it is like, to have to feed on death for your very existence. I am too far gone for any god to bring me back now and I curse them all for what _they _have done to me."

Although Mahtan knew fully well he was several inches taller than the man, he felt that the cloaked figure towered over him, towered over even the giant who now lay prostrate on the ground. "Now," said the man, "my hunger calls to me." He whirled away from Mahtan and continued toward the tree.

"I cannot allow that to happen," said Mahtan, as he stood. The remaining elves followed behind Mahtan with raised swords as he charged at the man who sought to feed on the great tree.

* * *

Hadeon shook his head sadly once the last elven warrior fell, then began picking away the bits of blood, gore, and elven chain mail from his gauntlets as he turned his attention back to the Great Mother. Behind him, the horde quivered in fear.

The forest was still while Hadeon tenderly traced his fingers across the bark of the ancient tree. "Were our positions reversed, you would do the same, old one." Still the wood was silent. _Perhaps,_ thoughtHadeon_, it believes I am reconsidering_. Hadeon chuckled at the thought. _No, old one. There is no mercy left in me. I simply don't have that luxury anymore. In another life, I might have delved into the mysteries of your wood. But I grow weary. Rest well, Great Mother._

Stepping back from the tree, Hadeon removed his gauntlets and took hold of the spear he kept slung across his back with his gaunt, almost skeletal, hands. Dagger-sharp thorns dug into Hadeon's palms as he gripped the weapon. Blood seeped away from Hadeon and the spear eagerly soaked it up. Spasms of pain ripped through Hadeon's body. He felt each burst of agony but betrayed no sign of anguish.

As the spear was awakened by Hadeon's blood, and by Bhaal's blood, it hungered for more.

_Now!_ At Hadeon's command the taint roared to life, an inferno that–were Hadeon to hold it inside–would surely devour him. As he had done a hundred times before, Hadeon channeled the essence of Bhaal into the spear.

Together, the blood of Bhaal and the spear cried for death. It was a demand that the most pure of heart would have been powerless to resist. Hadeon cleaved to the spear all the more tightly, and his blood continued to flow, soaking the black oak shaft with crimson.

Then Hadeon gave the two what they wanted, and thrust the spear into a root of the great mother. No mortal would have been able to notice any immediate effect, but Hadeon could feel the ancient one tremble in fear while the essence of Bhaal devoured it. No longer silent, the woods cried out in terror. If a word could be put to the reaction, it was simply _'why?'_.

* * *

Like plague, the taint of Bhaal quickly spread to every branch and root of the tree. Verdant leaves withered and fell. Great branches rotted and collapsed under their own weight. Platforms broke apart and plummeted as the branches they were set upon fell. The great stair that encirled the tree crumbled and gave way, joining the rest of the rubble.

Slowly, the great silvery trunk of the Great Mother began to grey, and then blacken with rot. The ground quaked as the trunk split down the middle and the two ends slowly curled to the ground, pulling down many smaller trees beneath their unstoppable weights. It didn't take long for the two ends to splinter further and wreak more destruction.

Hadeon pulled the taint back into himself and it fed him the strength it had siphoned from the great tree. The Bhaalspawn fell to the ground as he tried to keep the taint from overwhelming him. When Hadeon finally struggled to his feet, he felt stronger, but less alive.

The horde was assembled among the ruins of the great tree. All of the ogre warriors who had fought the elves, along with the orcs closest to the tree, had been crushed by debris. The Jarl Hrungnir and the half-ogre Battle Lord Asgrim stood at the edge of the debris.

_They both seek spoils, glory, and fortune. How long will it take them to realize that mine is the path of death? Even if I win all of my battles, will I live to see the end?_

"Ready the horde for a five days march," rasped Hadeon as he placed his spear upon his back and drew his gauntlets back on.


	18. Behind Closed Doors

_Behind Closed Doors_

"Galen, your impudence is beginning to irritate me," muttered Zarek.

"And your impulsiveness is quite bothersome as well. Never before have I been part of such a poorly run operation," Galen replied cooly from where he sat in the cramped safe house's only armchair.

Zarek raised a threatening hand and started towards Galen, only to halt when the dog sitting by Galen gave him a carnal growl in warning.

"Easy Broc," Galen said, petting the animal behind its ears. Gradually, the dog relaxed and laid down again. Zarek withdrew to the other side of the room nonetheless.

"What do you think of this predicament Cathal?" Galen asked.

It took the priest of Oghma a moment for him to realize he was being spoken to, his mind seemed to wander ceaselessly, "Well it is undeniable that this young woman is a Bhaalspawn. Certainly one such as she cannot be allowed to roam freely. I was under the impression that you had read much on the matter of the Bhaalspawn. Surely you understand the need for this woman to be held."

"I have read much concerning the Bhaalspawn and I would say I know as much about them as there is to be learned from prophecies and research."

"Pray tell, how much is that?" Cathal asked.

"Practically nothing."

"A lot of use you've been," Zarek murmured, "so far you've done nothing but spout nonsense and question my authority as the senior-ranking harper here."

"I think I have plenty of reason to question you. The Harpers must have been quite desperate to accept you as a member," Galen laughed, "I suppose that the fact you accepted help from a non-member such as myself should be an indicator of just how desperate the Harpers are as well."

"Our war with the Cult of the Dragon is no laughing matter," Zarek retorted, "Owyn will be back soon with whatever instructions Lord Balduin has for us concerning this Bhaalspawn."

"What makes you so certain the Cult of the Dragon hasn't intercepted Owyn? You sent him out over two hours ago."

"That's preposterous."

"Don't be a fool. Even without the Cult of the Dragon to worry about, the streets are still dangerous to travel alone at night. We should relocate to another safe house."

"You are forgetting who is in charge here, Galen. We are not going to move that woman without instructions."

"Hells, I'm going to talk to her," Galen said as he stood, and Broc quickly rose as well.

"I wouldn't advise that," said Zarek, "she's dangerous."

"I'll be fine," Galen replied in a dismissive tone, "Broc will see to that, won't you Broc?"

* * *

The chamber was made of stone, low-ceilinged, and furnished only with a hard bed and a candle that sat on the floor. Sadira sat on the bed with her back against the wall, staring at the heavy metal door. She jumped when the door finally did grate open, and tried to back even further into the wall when the dog stepped through and approached her.

A man entered soon after and shut the door. Although the lighting rendered the man little more than a silhouette, Sadira could plainly feel his gaze. The man snapped his fingers and the dog halted its approach to return to its master's side.

"I do not believe we have been properly introduced. Abductions tend to complicate such things. My name is Galen Crossley. I understand that you are Sadira. Formerly the wife of Bahram Hamaldin."

"How do you know who I am?" Sadira tremulously asked.

"I'm working with an organization called the Harpers. They are quite resourceful."

"You are here to bring me to justice for the murder of my husband?" Sadira asked, managing to bring some strength back into her voice.

"Not quite, your husband's murder caught the attention of the Harpers. Your lineage is what kept it."

"My lineage," Sadira laughed, "I am the daughter of a simple merchant family. I can't understand what could be of interest there."

"You're the daughter of Bhaal."

"What? Who? The dead god? I find that unlikely. Unless if it's another Bhaal you're referring to."

"No you have the right one. And we're quite certain you are of his blood. The Harpers think you're dangerous."

"And you don't?"

"I do believe that you are Bhaalspawn. I am not convinced that you are a threat to the world. But please, tell me why you killed Bahram."

Sadira looked hard at Galen, tried to read any sign as to his intentions. His face was a somber mask.

"I had been hearing voices for several months," Sadira started, "they began at about the time my family had me marry Bahram."

"It was an arranged marriage then?" Galen asked.

"It was," Sadira said, "my family wanted to have me marry as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"They wanted to get rid of me. I wasn't much use around the house. Mother constantly told Father he was wasting money on my schooling. I didn't get along very well with my other sisters either. At the time I had hoped marriage would make things better. I was foolish.

"Bahram turned out to be a pig and a miser. I think that was when I started hearing the voices. I started becoming discontent and found little ways to frustrate Bahram."

"What did the voices say?"

Sadira paused, "They told me that I could be so much more than I was. That I should stop living for other people. They were angry that I was willing to be ruled by Bahram. Finally, it was too much and... and I killed Bahram."

"These voices, do you still hear them?"

"Not since I fled Suzail."

Galen nodded, "You are one of Bhaal's children. Of that I have no doubt. But I think the presence of Bhaal within you is something separate."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't pretend to understand the nature of Bhaal's blood. Truly, I don't think anyone does. But I do not believe you wish to follow in your father's footsteps."

Sadira sighed with relief, "Thank you, Galen."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm not an official member of the Harpers so I might not be able to make a difference. Still, I know a few important members in this city. I will try and sway them."

"Do you know what they will do if you can't sway them?"

"Truly, I do not know," Galen replied as he pulled the iron door open, the dog at his heels, "I will try to speak to you again." The door closed with a heavy clang that echoed in the stone chamber.

Sadira waited until the ringing in her ears ceased, then crossed over to the door to get a closer look. The metal door would not open easily, but the lock looked to be a simple one.

_With the tools I have stashed in my boot heels, I can open it at my leisure. But there are probably people on the other side. Maybe it's better to wait._


	19. Diaspora

_Diaspora_

"So this," Ciara said disappointedly as she stepped off the elven river boat, "is a city."

"A bleak example by anyone's standards," commented Kyner.

"Aye, I hope to be out of here as soon as I can," added Bohdan, "they call this place the Northern Hearth but there are few warm spots in the city. Spell protections hold the worst of winter's attacks at bay but do little against the cold."

"I suppose that's better than nothing," Ciara sighed as she pulled her fur cloak tighter about herself and drew the hood forward. Winter had, once again, begun its advance. Kyner hoped to catch one of the last caravans to proceeding south to Mithral Hall before the snows began. Autumn rarely lasted for long this far north.

Selinde, the woman Mahtan had assigned to them as an escort, followed the others off the river boat. As the days passed by she had become increasingly agitated but refused to discuss the source of it. Bohdan's apparent mistrust of everything elven had done nothing to ease her anxieties.

But Bohdan's aversions were not limited to elves. Ever since his wounding at Aeterveris Bohdan refused to accept any shows of gratitude, from Ciara or Kyner, for what he had done. If anything, he seemed to regret his decision._ This will not end well,_ thought Ciara.

"Aren't you eager to get back to Aeterveris?" Bohdan disdainfully asked Selinde.

Selinde focused her reply on Kyner, "The hour is late and the crew desires rest before beginning the return trip. I bid you all luck on your quest." Selinde ignored Bohdan's baleful countenance as she brushed past the three.

Bohdan turned back to Kyner and Ciara, "Well, it's been lovely traveling with the two of you but I do believe I can find my own way south from here." Without another word he left the two standing by the river boat.

"Good riddance," breathed Kyner.

"I don't think we're finished with him yet," said Ciara.

"I sincerely hope you're wrong there," said Kyner.

"So do I," replied Ciara.

Kyner wished he could discount Ciara's warning but she was yet to be proven wrong.

* * *

"Selinde!" The man shouted as if he were trying to be heard above a crowd when there was hardly a soul on the street.

Selinde turned to face the direction of the voice and saw a young elven man running toward her, he looked to be a little younger than Selinde herself. As he drew closer Selinde could see the young man appeared not to have rested for days.

"What are you doing here?" asked Selinde.

The man hesitated before speaking, "I was sent to find you when word came that your boat had arrived. I must take you to the others."

"Why?" Selinde asked, her concerns growing, "what has happened?"

"I," again the young man hesitated, "I think it would be best if Lord Aelorn were allowed to explain."

_A lord of Aeterveris here?_ _What has taken place?_

"Very well," said Selinde, mastering her dread, "take me to him."

* * *

Selinde stepped into the inn the messenger had led her to. The atmosphere was dank and stifling. Most of the people populating the common room were elven and clustered around the fireplace. The proprietor of the inn glanced suspiciously at the elves every so often but said nothing.

The upper floor of the inn was no more inspiring than the bottom floor. The floor-boards creaked, as if about to give way, and dust was piled in every corner. Selinde politely knocked on the door of the room she had been told housed Aelorn. She was startled when the door opened and half a dozen lords and elders left the room.

All of them looked tired and travel-worn. _More than just one lord then, _thought Selinde_, something dire must have taken place._ Most worrisome were the sad and pitying looks they gave Selinde as they passed.

"Come in Selinde," Selinde recognized the voice as belonging to Lord Aelorn and wasted no time in entering the room. Aelorn was the oldest of the Aeterveran Lords and Mahtan had told Selinde that his hair had been gray even when he was young.

The elven lord's bed had been pushed into a corner and a table and a number of chairs–probably taken from elsewhere–dominated the bedroom. Selinde wondered how all of the lords and elders had managed to fit inside the cramped room.

Aelorn himself still sat at the table and watched Selinde's entrance with sad and weary eyes.

"What has happened Lord Aelorn? I've seen the people of Aeterveris moving about the streets like refugees but the man who showed me here would tell me nothing. Something terrible has happened."

Then the inevitable thought came to her, "where is my father?" Selinde asked, and trembled when no answer was immediately forthcoming. She sank onto the chair across from Aelorn.

"Yes child," said Aelorn as he leaned forward and closed his hands around Selinde's, "the others told you nothing because it would have been so terrible a burden. There is no way to tell you this other than to just say it.

"Aeterveris is fallen, and your father with it. Lord Mahtan fought valiantly, but against an enemy of such strength and magnitude that it could not have been overcome."

Selinde's eyes glistened with tears when next she looked up. "How?" she asked with a choked voice and made a vain attempt to wipe away her tears.

"A horde of monsters descended from the mountains to the east and assailed Aeterveris. Your father led the guardsmen in a battle that lasted for several days and allowed nearly all of us to escape."

"Nearly?" asked Selinde.

"Yes, Mahtan himself fought the enemy before the Great Tree with two hundred of his most loyal warriors to give the other guardsmen time to escape."

"None of them survived?"

"None. I am sorry child, but neither Mahtan nor any of his men could have survived. The enemy outnumbered them more than twenty to one and all of Mahtan's warriors pledged to fight to the death. Aeterveris will not be safe for some time. The horde left many of their number behind and they," Aelorn faltered, "and they slew the Great Tree."

"The Great Tree? How is that even possible?"

"I do not understand either. Clearly, we were not up against a marauding band of orcs and giants. There is something far worse behind this."

"What are you going to do?" Selinde had finally staunched the flow of tears and wiped away the last ones.

"When spring comes I will lead those of our people who will follow south to safer lands. Until then, I will organize our people in this city. We've enough supplies and money to survive the winter, but we cannot stay here for long. Now tell me child, what do you intend to do?"

"I do not know," Selinde replied slowly, "likely I will stay here, and help our people as I may."

Aelorn smiled, "I could certainly use your help Selinde, and many of our people will be comforted by the presence of Mahtan's daughter. Do not feel bound, however. Your own road may prove different from my own. Think on it."

Selinde nodded and began to leave the room, but stopped before reaching the door. Something wasn't quite right.

"When did my father announce the coming of the horde?"

"The rangers arrived with knowledge of the horde's movements a few hours after your departure," said Aelorn, and he chuckled, "the timing was convenient, no?"

Selinde turned to Aelorn, "You think my father had reason for sending me away?"

Aelorn laughed, "Your father always had some kind of agenda. You should have figured _that_ out by now. It's obvious to me that he didn't want you trying to stay in Aeterveris, as I know you would have wanted to. Beyond that, I do not know. Likely he intended that you would figure it out on your own."

Selinde pursed her lips in thought, "I thank you for your counsel Lord Aelorn and I will think on what you have said."

* * *

Selinde entered the room she had rented for the night from a begrudging innkeeper. He had apparently seen many of the new faces in town and was none too happy about it. Selinde could understand his reservations though, she always felt some suspicion whenever strangers entered Aeterveris.

Selinde sank onto the settee at the foot of the bed. Mahtan clearly had a course in mind for her. _Father, why could you never make anything simple?_

Then she thought of the strange tasks Mahtan had allotted to her lately. All of them had involved the most recent set of travelers. Particularly the old warrior and the girl. The short time they spent in Aeterveris, nearly imperceptible to Selinde for all of its brevity, who had become accustomed to thinking of time in terms of years and months but almost never in terms of days and hours, had profoundly affected Mahtan.

Selinde shook her head at not having seen it earlier and opened her larger satchel, wondering if she might find any other clues left for her. She was not surprised when the Silver Bow Arabor fell from the satchel.

Renewed tears flowed at the sight of her father's favorite weapon, the same bow he had trained her with. The pangs of grief still tore at her, but now she had a purpose.

* * *

"I can't say I wish to stay here any longer than necessary," said Ciara, "this place is even more austere than Noatun."

"You need not worry about that, I am just as eager to be on the road as you. This city always manages to look abandoned, even in summertime it is little different. At least our caravan is leaving tomorrow," Kyner said wearily.

There was a knock on the door. _I hope it isn't Bohdan,_ thought Kyner, then he realized that the knock was too soft for it to be him.

Kyner unlatched and opened the door to see Selinde standing in the doorway. "Oh, hello Selinde," he said, surprised, "please, come in."

"Thank you," the elven woman said, smiling wanly as she entered. The room was a spacious one intended for wealthy merchants and was furnished with a low table, couch and a few chairs in addition to the two beds. Kyner guided Selinde to the couch before sitting down on one of the chairs opposite it.

"What's wrong?" asked Ciara when she saw the unshed tears behind Selinde's eyes, and sank down onto the couch beside her.

"I just heard, Aeterveris has fallen to the enemy horde, any my father with it," Selinde said with a choked voice.

"I'm so sorry," breathed Ciara, and the girl realized that knowing what would happen was different from it actually happening._ I thought that by leaving Aeterveris I could save it._ _But it didn't save Noatun, did it?_

"Your father was Mahtan?" asked Kyner, though he already knew the answer.

Selinde could only nod as she tried to hold back her tears. Ciara tried to comfort her.

Kyner sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin._ Mahtan's purpose in sending Selinde to escort us to Hreispell was two-fold. The first reason was to keep Selinde from harm. The second reason was that he wanted Selinde to accompany Ciara and myself. Mahtan understood Ciara's importance and would trust none other than his own blood to aid in guarding and teaching her._

"Kyner," Selinde began, looking up, "would you permit me to travel with you?"

"Certainly," replied Kyner, "I believe that your father would have wished it."

"As do I," said Selinde.

"Do you need lodgings for the night?" asked Kyner, after a pause.

"No, I already have a room elsewhere in the city. When will we be leaving?"

"We must meet with the caravan that will take us south before sunrise. You will find it at the south gate."

"Thank you," said Selinde, still attempting to blink away her tears.


	20. A Late Visit

_A Late Visit_

Saunder closed with his armored opponent and swung his hammer. The other man avoided the swing with a single backstep and brought his great sword to bear down on Saunder with a strong diagonal cut. Saunder managed to block the attack with his shield but stumbled backward from the force of the hit.

The armored man stayed where he was while Saunder regained his balance. When he did, the paladin charged at his opponent, this time putting more power into his swing.

The armored man met Saunder with a high swing that collided with Saunder's hammer at the intersection of hammer head and shaft, then twisted his hilt to trap Ashideena within the great sword's cross guards. Saunder could do little but watch as his opponent forced the hammer to the ground, then freed his own weapon and brought its pummel to Saunder's face.

Saunder fell to the ground and blood colored his vision. The armored figure leaned forward and removed a gauntlet, then placed that hand on Saunder's bloodied forehead and murmured a prayer. The pain and throbbing in Saunder's head began to recede.

"I can see you have much to learn," said the armored man as he helped Saunder back onto his feet.

"Tell me Ajantis, do you think you could try and be a little less brutal during your training sessions?" Branwen asked sardonically as she leaned up against a tree not far away.

"He must be ready for the enemies he faces, and training in the field must be done quickly and not at all softly." Ajantis removed his helm and sat on the ground by the small campfire Imoen had started. The fire would certainly attract attention but that was a chance the entire party was willing to take, except for Kivan maybe. Ajantis patted his helm as he set it on the ground, "you should probably get one of these as well."

"That would obscure my vision," Saunder complained.

"It's your choice," said Ajantis, "but I would rather suffer visual impairment than the loss of my head. When you're in the thick of battle, you will want all of the protection you can afford."

Saunder nodded and sat by the campfire beside Imoen and across from the more experienced paladin.

"So what do you think I need to improve on?" asked Saunder.

"It's hard to know where to start," said Ajantis, "the most obvious problem with your style is your defense. Static blocks and parries do nothing but keep you opponent's weapon from killing you and can leave you at a disadvantage. But deflecting, rather than merely blocking, your opponent's attacks with your shield can leave them off balance and meeting your opponent's attacks with your own can accomplish the same end or even disarm your opponent. Good footwork can eliminate the need for you to do any parrying and a combination of aggressive footwork and well-timed attacks will keep you from needing to worry at all about defense with most lesser opponents."

"What do you mean by lesser opponents?" asked Imoen.

"Why, those not trained in the proper forms of their weapon of course. Many who wield the sword see it only as an implement for hacking and slicing when it can be used much more artfully. If you practice what I teach, you will have an edge on your opponents."

"Who was it that taught you?" asked Saunder, genuinely interested.

"As a son of the Waterdhavian noble family of Ilvastarr, I had the opportunity to learn under many warriors. With certainty though, I can say my two best teachers were Captain-at-Arms Myrmith Splendon and Lord Keldorn Firecam. You may not have heard of Lord Firecam. He is a paladin who commands great respect within the Order of the Most Radiant Heart and I served him as a squire for several years."

"I assume it's quite a long road to join the Order," said Saunder.

"The road must always long in deeds but need not be long in years as well," replied Ajantis. Saunder nodded. "Who knows, even you may get to join the Order if you can prove yourself."

"Someone is coming," said Kivan. The party turned to see the ranger emerge from the shadows, none of them had noticed his exit any more than they had his approach.

"How many?" asked Branwen, removing her hammer from where it was fastened onto her belt.

"Only two of them, a man and a woman," responded Kivan, "they appear competent with the arms they carry but do not seem to be of hostile intent."

"How are they armed?" asked Ajantis as he stood.

"The man had a long sword and shield and was armored in chain mail. The woman carried only a quarterstaff and was armored in studded leather."

"They were headed in this direction?" asked Saunder.

"They were, and quite purposefully. I think it likely they spotted the campfire from afar," Kivan directed his stare at Imoen for a few moments.

"All right, I get the idea. No more fires. I guess we'll all just freeze to death when we have to sleep outside during winter with no fire."

"The fire did us some good, Imoen," Saunder said, resting a hand on her shoulder, "but I think it might be prudent to forgo the fires until we've dealt with the bandits in this area."

"Thanks," said Imoen, and she smiled faintly.

"Might as well leave it going," said Saunder as Imoen made to snuff the fire out, "they already know we're here."

Saunder walked to the path by which Kivan and Ajantis were standing. Imoen hesitantly snatched up her bow and followed.

"They are close now," said Kivan, "you should be able to hear them in a few moments." The ranger drew an arrow from his quiver and fitted it onto his longbow's nock. Ajantis put on his helm before drawing his great sword from its baldric. Branwen shifted uneasily as she waited.

Then the pair they had been waiting for came into sight.

"Halt, and state your intentions!" shouted Ajantis.

The man stopped immediately, but the woman kept on walking at a pace even more determined than before and the man jogged forward to keep up.

"D-do you think it w-wise to, err, to anger these people?" asked the man.

"I am not trying to anger them," the woman curtly said, "I only wish a better look at those I am speaking with."

As the two drew closer the firelight revealed them to both be half-elven. The firelight also revealed that the woman commanded an imperious scowl, which she now directed on the party arrayed before her, especially Kivan and his ready bow.

The woman turned to face Kivan, "I can assure you that is not necessary. I am looking for a young man named Saunder, the hero of Naskel as they call him. If any of you know where he is I would be most appreciative."

"You need look no farther," said Saunder as he stepped forward, "I am the one you seek. Now you have me at a disadvantage. Would you tell me who you are?"

Relief lit up the woman's face for a moment, "Yes, of course. I am Jaheira and this is my husband Khalid."

"I recognize your names," said Saunder, "but I do not believe I have ever met you."

"W-we were– uh–friends of your foster-father, he, he may have spoken of us," said the man Khalid.

"Yes," Saunder nodded, "now I remember, he told me to seek you out at the Friendly Arm Inn."

"He told you? Then why did you not come?" asked Jaheira, her stare accusing, "we waited there for nearly a week before deciding we would have to find you."

"This sounds like it is going to be a lengthy discussion," said Branwen as she secured her hammer on its belt notch, "and I see little reason for it to be had standing up."

"Aye, she's right," said Jaheira, "would you care to let us share your fire?"

"Make yourselves at home," said Saunder as he stepped aside to allow the two to pass.

Jaheira was the first to move to the fire and sit down, Khalid following shortly behind. Saunder moved to the side of the fire opposite the two newcomers.

"Now that you've found me," Saunder began, "what is it you want?"

"G-Gorion was a friend to. . . to both of us and requested that we teach and err–watch over you should anything happen to him," Khalid stammered out.

"I can see that you've found your own teachers though," said Jaheira as she looked at Saunder's companions, stopping when she looked at the dour-faced ranger, "and are not quite so helpless as Gorion expected you would be."

"Not so much as I was at any rate," said Saunder, "my lack of experience was why I chose not to go to the Friendly Arm Inn. Gorion and I were ambushed as we left Candlekeep. Whoever killed Gorion knew that we would travel on that road so it seemed just as likely they would know to find me at the Friendly Arm. I would have been easy prey for any bounty hunters waiting for me."

Jaheira remembered a number of unsavory but well-armed characters who had stood near the gates of the Friendly Arm Inn._ They were probably the bounty hunters of whom Saunder spoke, and they certainly would have been in a good position to strike him down before Khalid or I would even have known something was amiss. A terrible mistake on my part and not one that will happen again._

"We would still like to offer our assistance if you would have it," said Jaheira. Khalid nodded.

"I do appreciate the offer," said Saunder, "but I have need to travel quietly and I believe I have enough companions now. Perhaps we will meet again."

"Perhaps," said Jaheira, not bothering to hide her disappointment, "I wish you success on your road."

"Thank you, both of you," said Saunder, "would you like to share our camp for the night? The hour is late for travel."

"No, that will not be necessary. I wish you luck on your road, Saunder," said Jaheira as she and Khalid stood and made way.

* * *

"You, you're just going to leave him?" asked Khalid in an exasperated voice, once he and Jaheira were out of earshot.

"He seems to have done well so far," Jaheira replied with a dismissive tone, "and he does not appear inclined toward having any more companions. I can see no reason to stand in his way."

Khalid stepped in front of Jaheira to block her way, "You know what he is! Do you really think he c-can be left alone?"

"And what do you think _we_ can do about it." Those words stopped Khalid when he was about to speak again. "Self-discovery is best left to the self. We can do nothing but get in the way."

"Then what will we do?"

"We will do as harpers do," said Jaheira, "we will watch from afar and help as we can."

Khalid nodded and said no more as he followed Jaheira.


	21. Guild Wars

_Guild War_s

_NOW._

Sadira woke with a start. Her gut felt cold and twisted in knots, the young woman looked around frantically to gain her bearings but only saw darkness, and felt as if that darkness were watching her, closing in around her.

_Where am I?_

Sadira forced herself to take deep breaths and started to remember where she was, the room with the iron door and the single bed. _The candle must have gone out, that's why there's no light._ But it still felt wrong. _How long have I been here? Hours? Days?_

Her worries building, Sadira felt a sudden need to escape; then remembered how simple the iron door's lock was and the tools she had hidden in her boot heels. _Maybe there isn't anyone watching now._ Sadira felt along the walls until she came upon the door and put her ear against it. _Nothing. _Kneeling down, Sadira found the door's lock and retrieved the lock picks from her boot heel.

Moments later the lock gave way with a satisfying click and Sadira heaved the door open, then gagged when the rank smell of death filled her nostrils. A man lay on the floor by a table only a few paces from where Sadira stood, his blood had pooled on the floor and stained his green robes.

The door to the outside opened before Sadira had any time to think further. A man stood still in the doorway, his countenance a mixture of rage and horror.

"Bhaalspawn wench," the man growled, and reached for the sword girt at his side.

Sadira saw a blooded short sword lying on top of a chest beside her and seized it. The man lunged for Sadira and she dodged the artless attack, then spun around and cut the man's face open from chin to temple. For a moment he stood utterly still, his face frozen in a look of surprise. Then blood began to ooze from the diagonal cut across his face. The top of the man's head fell off, spilling brains onto the floor as he collapsed.

Sadira recoiled, and did nothing but stare at the two bodies in the room for a long moment, trying to understand what had passed.

_Beautiful, isn't it?_

Sadira groaned inwardly at the voice's return.

_The swordsman must have thought I killed the man in the green robes, _Sadira thought_. But who did kill the robed man?_ Then Sadira remembered what Ondrus, her guildmaster, had told her about feuding guilds in the city, and that one of the fiercest guild wars was being fought between the Harpers and the Cult of the Dragon.

_Maybe the Cult of the Dragon killed the robed man and left the sword here so I would be blamed. That's what the Harpers will think. _Sadira took a cloth that lay on the table and used it to wipe the blood off the short sword; then saw the weapon's scabbard.She promptly sheathed the sword and cast another glance at the bodies.

A chill breeze blew through the open door and Sadira felt goose bumps rising on her arms. The night beckoned; Sadira stepped outside and firmly shut the door. Clouds obscured the moon and stars; the only light to be had came from lantern posts placed intermittently on the streets. Sadira had come to see the darkness as her ally, but tonight it felt oppressive, malignant, like a leaden weight that had settled over Elversult.

* * *

Sadira treaded carefully as she made her way back to the inn she had lodged at before her abduction, and ducked into the shadows of alleyways whenever she saw another person. The young woman was not sure what hour it was but was relieved that the streets were all nearly vacant. Still, the night was too quiet for Sadira's liking.

A pair of Maces, as the town guards called themselves, drew close, and Sadira sunk deeper into a foul-smelling alley when one of them looked in her direction, stopping only when her foot struck something. Turning around, Sadira saw the corpse of a man with his throat slit open and suppressed a gasp, then looked for anyone who might be skulking in the shadows.

_Is death rampant all over the city tonight?_

Once the guards had moved on Sadira took a few deep breaths, stepped over the corpse, and walked to the other end of the alley. Sadira shuddered as a cold breeze blew through the alley and wished she had looked for a cloak at the safe house.

Peering out from the alley's threshold, Sadira didn't see anyone but felt compelled to stay put; then she found her sight drawn to a manor that she recognized as a noble's estate. Moments later the front door of the estate opened and Sadira briefly saw a well dressed man standing in the doorway before a brilliant fireball erupted, lighting up the street as if it were daytime. Sadira ducked down and covered her head as debris from the blast fell about her.

When she uncovered her eyes, Sadira saw that what had been a manor was now an inferno. It took Sadira's eyes some time to adjust before she saw the sword wielding figures running into the blaze, as if to finish off any who had survived.

Sadira stepped out of the alley and over debris as she left the burning manor behind. Squads of Maces hurried along the streets toward the manor and failed to see the young woman moving in the shadows.

* * *

The inn's common room was empty, save for a sleeping door guard. Sadira slowly made her way across the common room and up the stairs, drawing her short sword when she reached her own floor.

The corridor was empty. Sadira crept up to her door and felt the handle; it was warm. After putting her ear to the door Sadira was able to discern the sound of shallow breathing and abruptly threw the door open. A short figure stood by the table and Sadira lunged at it, her short sword aimed at the figure's throat. In a panic, the figure scrambled backwards and avoided Sadira's blade but lost balance and fell onto it's back.

_Take his life!_

_You silence yourself!_

"Tass, it's me you bloody fool, Ondrus sent me."

Sadira lowered her weapon and, once her eyes adjusted to the dark room, recognized Darach's squat form.

"This is the last bleeding time I go out on a limb for you," the gnome muttered, grunting as he stood and refusing Sadira's hand when she offered it.

"Hiding in the shadows of my room probably wasn't the best way to greet me and . . . what's that smell?"

"I didn't relish the thought of lighting a candle and giving you the idea that someone was waiting here to kill you or giving anyone looking for you the idea that you were here. The streets are dangerous tonight. Harpers and Cultists of the Dragon are going at it and the Maces have their hands full. We heard from another guild that you had been abducted by Harpers and Ondrus sent me here when he heard you had escaped."

"Why?"

"Ondrus looks after his own. He knows you are marked if you stay here so he's made arrangements to get you out of Elversult tonight. And before I forget," Darach removed a purse from his belt and handed it to Sadira; it was quite heavy, "That's your share of the loot from the Lord Norvel job, minus the cost to procure your escape. We'd better get moving."

"What about the Harpers and Cultists?" Sadira asked as she grabbed a cloak and hurriedly stuffed her belongings into a satchel.

"Don't worry about them, once we're on the streets I'll cast invisibility spells on both of us, just don't touch anything or the spell will be cancelled. Heh, you didn't know I was an illusionist did you?"

* * *

Sadira and Darach made their way through Elversult's streets, avoiding the worst of the guild war but frequently hearing explosions and the ring of steel. It took Sadira a while to get used to being led by the string tied to the invisible gnome's wrist but, once she did, their progress quickened. The two soon found themselves on the outskirts of the city where the roaring explosions were reduced to distant murmurs.

"This is it," Darach declared when they came upon a small caravan at the city's edge. The gnome untied the string from around his wrist, cancelling the invisibility spell.

"Hail friends," said a man as the two approached the caravan, "Ondrus has already paid for half of your passage therefore I suggest we be underway presently," the man paused and looked at Sadira, "I understand you have the other half."

"Not yet Saemon," Darach said, as he retrieved a purse from his belt and handed it to Sadira, "take this Tassa. Give it to him when he gets you to safety, and not a moment before."

Sadira nodded and promptly stowed the purse in her satchel, noting Saemon's dismayed countenance. _Do not trust this one,_ the voice told Sadira.

"Very well," said Saemon, "I assure you ma'am, your journey will be as comfortable as possible while keeping you out of sight. Now if you would just climb onto that wagon we can be off."

* * *

"I am certain she did nothing," protested Galen.

"Whatever you think happened," said Lady Cirila, a senior Harper in Elversult, "Zarek and Cathal are both dead. And this woman you so vigorously defend is of Bhaal's blood."

"This is foolish. Whoever killed Zarek was strong enough to slice clean through his skull. It must have been the Cult of the Dragon, and they are probably holding her captive."

"Or maybe Sadira took advantage of a Cult attack in order to break free. Maybe she has joined the cultists."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I'm not sure what to believe at the moment. But I have talked with other leaders and we have agreed on one thing."

"And what is that?"

"Sadira is dangerous. She has no control over herself and has proven to be a thief and a murderer. If there are any professions less honorable than those she happens to excel at I do not know of them. Do not forget, Bhaal himself was an assassin before he was a god," Galen opened his mouth to speak but Cirila was not done yet, "Obviously, she is far too dangerous to be left to her own devices. Therefore, we have sent orders to all Harpers along the Dragon Coast and the Trader's Road to apprehend Sadira."

"That's a very large area," said Galen, "do you really have enough informants to cover it?"

"We have also requested, and been granted, the aid of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart."

Galen furrowed his brow, "What are you going to do if you find her?"

"Like I have already said, she is dangerous. I believe the only viable solution is a maze spell and many of my colleagues agree."

"Bloody Harpers," Galen muttered.

"You may leave now," said Lady Cirila, "I do not believe we will be in need of your services anymore, Galen."

* * *

Galen was stalking away from Lady Cirila's estate, cursing at the Harpers under his breath, when he felt a hand grab his shoulder and whirled around to see that it belonged to a tall cloaked man.

"And just who are you?" Galen asked.

The man withdrew his hand, "My name is not important, but I understand you are concerned about the fate of a certain Bhaalspawn, no?"

"How do you know about this? Are you another one of those Harpers?"

"I assure you I am nothing of the sort," the man replied a wry smile, "I have no information regarding the one for whom you are concerned. But there is another who will require your aid. If you are interested, go and wait at the Dragonreach Inn at Westgate."


	22. Test of Faith

_Test of Faith_

"He should have been back by now," muttered Branwen.

"He'll be back," said Saunder.

"And how can you know he won't run into more trouble than he's expected? It's been nearly an hour now!" Saunder's eyes widened at her accusing tone and was glad the night concealed his shock.

"Keep your voice down," rasped Ajantis, "we can't reveal ourselves to the bandits just yet."

Branwen sighed and paced impatiently. Her hand never leaving the handle of her war hammer.

"Branwen," Imoen started, approaching the warrior-priest.

"What is it?" she spat.

"Kivan knows his business better than any of us know our own. I've seen him slip into shadows in broad daylight and we all know the night only sharpens his skills." Branwen hadn't been swayed. Imoen chuckled.

"What's so funny?" asked Branwen, her scowl deepening.

"Did Saunder ever tell you about how Kivan came to join us?" asked Imoen.

"No," Branwen replied, her tongue was still acid but her interest was apparent.

"I guess he wouldn't have. Saunder doesn't like stories that don't make him seem heroic."

"This should be interesting," Branwen smiled faintly.

"Well, after we left Candlekeep, it was just Saunder and me. Gorion had just died and we were both afraid and unsure of what we needed to do. We were poorly equipped and easy prey for the bandits that ambushed us. I don't need to tell you that we were completely caught off guard.

"I was knocked onto the ground with a blade at my throat before I even saw them. I might have screamed if I hadn't been so terrified. Saunder tried to fight one of them but his sword broke on the second swing. The bandit made to finish him but an arrow caught him in the throat before he got the chance.

"It was less than a few seconds later when Kivan came behind the man holding me and finished him. Kivan didn't show himself until the last bandit went still. He had both me and Saunder scared for a moment, and we wondered for a moment if we were safer with the bandits."

"You still have your doubts about him?" asked Branwen, the venom gone from her voice.

Imoen winced, "He's just so brooding and," Imoen hesitated, afraid she might upset Branwen, "and I've never known that anyone could be so bent on vengeance."

"He may not be so bent on vengeance as you think," Branwen replied mildly.

"It's all he ever talks about–whenever he speaks at all that is. He seems completely obsessed with hunting down the bandits, especially Tazok."

"Think Imoen, why was Kivan there at such a convenient time."

Imoen bit her lower lip, trying to remember, "He said he had been following the bandits for several days so that he could follow them back to their camp."

"You see, were Kivan really so bent on vengeance as you believe, he would have let those bandits kill you and been able to follow them to their camp. Instead, he chose to save you and sacrifice several days of tracking."

Imoen paused, "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Vengeance is a strange thing. Do you know why he wants to kill Tazok so badly?"

Imoen shook her head.

"There was something I have been wondering about," Branwen said, "Saunder was training to be a paladin, was he not?" Imoen nodded. "Then why was he not better trained for combat?"

Her question caught Imoen off-guard, "I never thought much about it then but even Saunder found it odd. Gorion always seemed to think his connection to Tyr was more important than his strength with weapons. In the months before we left Gorion even scheduled less training with the guardsmen for Saunder in favor of more time for meditation–"

The snapping of a twig announced Kivan's return, he had learned that the party didn't like him sneaking up on them.

"What has kept you?" Branwen shot at him before he had the chance to speak.

"I apologize that I did not work so swiftly as you desired but the need for caution outweighed the need for celerity. Regardless, all of the outlying sentries are dead. I suspect that the majority of the bandits are out on raids and the greater part of the few that remain in camp are asleep. The exception is a hut raised on a wooden platform, the torches there remain lit."

"How many bandits are there?" asked Ajantis.

"I estimate there are roughly thirty," said Kivan, "a mix of hobgoblins and humans. I have watched them for some time and am certain Tazok is not now among them." If Kivan was disappointed by that fact, he succeeded in not showing it.

"Six of them to every one of us then," said Branwen, "those are pretty good odds."

"We're actually going to take on thirty bandits by ourselves?" asked Imoen.

"There will never be a better time," said Kivan, his face said he would do it alone if no one else was willing.

"We act now," declared Saunder. The party needed no additional orders. Kivan led the party to the trees bordering the clearing that contained the collection of bandit huts.

Ajantis clapped Saunder on the shoulder, "You are ready Saunder, the bandits will soon see that brute strength is no match for a skilled warrior."

* * *

The last of the bandits tripped over a root as he ran and fell onto his face. Saunder was close behind him, gripping Ashideena with both hands, having lost his shield during the fray. The bandit turned onto his back to stare up into Saunder's eyes, which gleamed with cold fury.

"Mercy, m'lord," the bandit wept, "please, I'll do whatever penance need be done, just let me live." Saunder began to lower his weapon.

_Slay this scum._

The command carried such power that Saunder had again raised his sword and crushed the bandit's skull before he had even thought about it, before the bandit even had a chance to scream.

Saunder whirled about to find the source of the voice, chasing the bandit had led him away from the camp and there was no one near. With the last bandit fallen, Saunder's anger began to diminish. The anger that had slowly built with each bandit slain. It was not the anger of fury or bloodlust. It had been an intensely cold anger. Hatred and malice.

Saunder shook his head. _Gorion trained me better than this._

"Saunder!" Imoen's yell pierced Saunder's thoughts and he ran to meet her. The girl still had an arrow nocked. Moonlight gleamed off a narrow stream of red trickling down her cheek.

"You're hurt," said Saunder as he raised a hand to the wound.

"Save it," said Imoen, holding back Saunder's hand, "the others need it worse than me."

"Take me to them," said Saunder.

"You gave us all a scare when you ran off," said Imoen as she led Saunder to where the others waited.

"Sorry," said Saunder, "I saw one of the bandits trying to escape."

"Did you catch him?" asked Imoen.

"Aye," said Saunder, slowly, "I caught him."

"You always were a quick sprinter," Imoen said wistfully, "I'm amazed you can move at all beneath that armor."

"It's not so bad," said Saunder, "Ajantis's armor weighs more than mine."

"I suppose so," said Imoen, glad that she was burdened only by a leather jerkin.

The bandit camp lay not far ahead. All of the smaller huts had been set on fire during the first part of the raid in order to draw the bandits out. The mangled bodies of over two dozen bandits outside the huts, with still more charred corpses within, were testament to the fact that Branwen's idea had been successful.

The party was scattered about the platform on which Tazok's hut had been built. Kivan sat on the platform, leaning against the hut while Branwen tended his wounds.

"Saunder," said Branwen as she saw him approach, "are you wounded?"

"No," said Saunder, and realized with no small surprise that he had not even sustained a minor cut during the frenzied battle. _No, it was never frenzied. I knew what I was doing. Every cut was precisely and swiftly executed. _

"None of that blood is yours then?" asked Ajantis. Saunder shook his head, looking down at the blood and gore than now adorned his armor.

"I suppose I'll have to clean it up before we next enter town," said Saunder.

"That would be wise," replied Ajantis, "lest the commoners think a bloodthirsty blackguard has come among them." Saunder chuckled mirthlessly at the last bit.

"If anyone else is hurt," began Saunder, "I have not yet lain my hands on any wounds."

"Kivan could still use some healing," said Branwen, "I've exhausted my spells and a number of potions on him."

"You should have healed yourself," Kivan groaned.

"You were in much worse shape than I," Branwen countered, "it was foolhardy of you to fight Taugosz alone. You've been hunting bandits for long enough to know his reputation as a warrior."

"I had no choice," said Kivan, "he had Imoen marked. I think her safety is worth a little discomfort."

"Discomfort! You call a perforated shoulder, half a dozen broken ribs and a shattered knee discomfort?"

Kivan raised his eyebrows before he replied, "Yes."

"Why do I even try," muttered Branwen.

Saunder approached the pair and knelt down beside them, then looked at Branwen's left arm, a steak of red was dimly visible on the green wool. Saunder pulled her sleeve up to see the long gash.

"It's not very deep," said Branwen, "but I think it is more than a lay on hands spell can cure. I will heal it in the morning when I have rested enough to clear my head."

Saunder closed his hands around the gash and released the spell. It was gone once he removed his hands. Ajantis moved in to appraise the work and nodded approvingly.

"You may want to invest in some vambraces," said Saunder as he drew away.

Branwen stared up to look at Saunder, "Your abilities have grown since we met, Saunder, I am impressed."

"I've learned a few things," Saunder replied.

"But, that spell must have been more than a simple lay on hands . . ."

"Do you hear that?" asked Ajantis. Saunder stopped and listened, then heard the distant sounds of armored men moving.

"They're Flaming Fist Mercenaries," murmured Kivan.

"How do you know?" asked Imoen.

"I heard the sergeant shouting at his men five minutes ago."

"Why did you not tell us then?" asked Branwen.

"We have nothing to fear from them," said Kivan.

"We just did their job for them," said Ajantis, "and you've told me that we have Officer Vai's blessing to take the head of any bandit we come across."

The Flaming Fist Sergeant's commands were faintly audible: "Squad, halt! Break down into threes and search the premises!"

"They'll find us," said Saunder as he sat on one of the platform's steps and wiped the blood from Ashideena. He didn't have to wait long.

"You there," came a shout, "identify yourselves." Saunder looked in the direction of the shout to see a trio of Flaming Fist Mercenaries with swords at the ready.

He rose and faced them, "I am Saunder and this is my party. As you can see, we have just made a night's task of eliminating these bandits."

"So I see. And I thank you on behalf of the Flaming Fist. Saunder, I recognize the name. You are the one whose aid was enlisted by Lieutenant Vai, are you not?"

"I am," said Saunder, "may I ask who you are?"

"I am Sergeant Gregor of the Flaming Fist. My company was just heading south from Baldur's Gate to reinforce Lieutenant Vai's force in Beregost. Captain Hebron sent my squad ahead to investigate when we saw the fires and heard the sounds of battle."

"If I may, sergeant," began Ajantis, "I want to point out that not all bandits are present here. I highly recommend that you inform your superior and stake out this position so that you can ambush any stragglers who come this way. You must act quickly. I recommend that your commander move his company into this camp so that you can afford to pursue any bandits who attempt to escape without losing too many men to the chase."

"Sound advice, sir. I doubt Captain Hebron would pass up a chance to soil his sword in bandits' blood," replied the sergeant before he turned back to his own men, "inform Corporal Stefan that he is in charge until I return. Get the bodies out of sight and ambush any bandits who come through. I will return as soon as I am able." The two mercenaries nodded and hurried off to relay the instructions. "I suppose you will not be staying?" the sergeant asked Saunder.

"No," said Saunder, "we've had a long day and require rest."

"Very well," said the sergeant, "I wish you luck in your endeavors." With those words he began to walk away.

"One more question Sergeant Gregor," began Saunder.

"Yes sir?"

"Why is your company heading south?" asked Saunder.

"The lords haven't told us yet. Even Captain Hebron admits he doesn't know why." Sergeant Gregor lowered his voice and came closer to the party, "But there are rumors that Amn is behind all of these iron troubles we've been having. So me and most of the men think we're being garrisoned at Beregost as either the vanguard against an Amnish invasion or the advance force for an invasion of our own. I've heard they're considering committing the entire battalion south and calling in the reserves to keep order in the city."

"I have to say though," and the sergeant's voice dropped even lower, "I've been to Amn before and that country is many times as vast as Baldur's Gate and far more populous. They have at least four or five times as many troops as we do, many of them veterans, and not like those frontier troops in Nashkel. If it comes to war, it doesn't bode well for Baldur's Gate."

Gregor and Saunder exchanged nods before the sergeant walked back into the night.

* * *

There was a slight knock on the door.

A cold wind slipped through the arrow slits in Saunder's bedroom high in the renovated keep that was the Friendly Arm Inn. All of the lights were extinguished but Saunder still sat on the foot of his bed, sleepless.

_Slay this scum._ Those words and the horrified face of the bandit as his hammer fell played through Saunder's mind without end.

The knock became more insistent.

The road to the Friendly Arm and the business with the Flaming Fist had helped him to keep his mind off of it.

There was no such defense now.

_Slay all the fools._

The knock was almost a bang.

Saunder snapped out of his reverie and crossed to the door. He opened the door slightly with his left hand to see who was standing behind it, his right hand on Ashideena's handle where it leaned against the wall.

After looking through the crack Saunder let go of his hammer and opened the door all the way to let Imoen in. She looked tired and, like Saunder, still wore her dirty traveling clothes.

"I guess I didn't wake you up," said Imoen as she sat on the foot of Saunder's bed. Saunder only shook his head and closed the door. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's hard to explain," said Saunder.

"No it isn't, you just don't want to tell me. Come on."

Saunder leaned against the wall, dry-washing his hands, "I don't know what happened when we were fighting against the bandits. I lost myself."

"You seemed in control to me," said Imoen, her tone worried.

"I don't mean to say that I lost control," said Saunder, "I mean that I lost myself to hatred and malice. Gorion trained me better than that."

"It's hard not to hate what these bandits represent," said Imoen, "fighting hobgoblins and kobolds was one thing but fighting other people is something different."

"You're right," said Saunder, "I slipped, and it's not something I'll let happen again. But you had another reason for coming here."

"Yeah," said Imoen, "I kinda feel like I'm not really pulling my weight in this group."

"What do you mean?" asked Saunder.

"Well, everyone kinda has a purpose. You and Ajantis have close combat covered. Kivan's bow has taken down more enemies than we even see. Branwen's a healer as well as a good fighter. I don't feel like I'm being as useful as anyone else."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"I've been looking through some of the stuff we've taken. Magical scrolls and such. I never paid much attention to them at Candlekeep, but with the stuff Gorion taught me, they're actually starting to make a lot of sense."

Saunder nodded, "So you want to be a mage?"

"Yep," Imoen said quietly.

"Don't let me stop you. We could certainly use one."

"Thanks. I've already started memorizing some minor spells, the more powerful spells are a lot harder to remember."

"Learn them as you can Imoen. I know you'll figure them out."

Imoen beamed as she left the room.

Saunder dropped his smile like a mask once the door closed. Somehow, he knew that his hatred was more than just disgust at the bandits. It was something that ran much deeper. Sleep didn't come easily.

* * *

Saunder stepped carefully. Leafless, gnarled trees towered menacingly over him. Brambles covered the roots and trunks of the trees and tore at Saunder's tunic and trousers. The night air itself was hostile, a palpable, suffocating thing. There was a dim light in the distance and Saunder slowly made his way toward it.

The paladin did not know how long he roamed through the wood before he saw the eyes. Fiery, golden eyes in the darkness. _I've seen eyes like those before._ _Gorion's murderer. _Saunder's hand went for his hammer only to find the weapon was not there. Suppressing a surge of panic, Saunder began to move toward the light again, the eyes followed, but made no attempt to overtake him.

"You seem a little lost," Saunder spun toward the voice and saw a man sitting by a fire in a clearing no more than ten feet across. The gnarled trees seemed to bend away from it. Saunder warily approached the man.

"You may share my fire if you wish, I think you will find it preferable to the outer darkness," the man waved his left hand to encompass the surrounding forest, "the choice is yours. Naturally, the consequences are as well."

"Who are you?" asked Saunder.

"A stranger in the dark may identify himself as anyone he wishes. Step closer, and see for truth." Saunder took a few steps and the man leaned forward, allowing the fire to illuminate him. He had short white hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same color. His face was careworn, but remained sharply angled. His eyes were milky white and he was missing his right hand.

"Tyr," Saunder had barely said the name before he sunk to both knees with eyes lowered.

"Rise, Saunder. You need not fear me and may spare me the groveling. Your faith is known to me, else I would not have waited for you."

"I apologize for-"

"Such apologies are unnecessary. One must be wary when dealing with the unknown in unfamiliar territory. I would want nothing less from one of my faithful. I have answered one of your questions, but you have others. Ask what you will, and I will answer as I can."

Saunder looked around, saw how the gnarled trees bent away from the small clearing and how the golden eyes peered at him from the darkness. "What is this place?"

"There is no exact answer to that. It is a dreamscape of sorts, a personification of a reality you do not understand."

"And what is that? I've seen such eyes before, on the armored man who slew Gorion." Saunder motioned to the glowing eyes on the edge of the tight clearing.

"He is not the same creature that slew Gorion. You will know who that one is soon enough. This one however," Tyr pointed to the eyes hanging in the darkness, "is within you, and the two of you are as inseparable as blood and bone."

"What?"

"You are not yet ready to accept everything you must learn, but you must be on your guard against this one. He will prey on your bloodlust and seek to control you. You have already felt his touch."

_Slay this scum_. Saunder shook his head to drive the thought away.

"Yes, you fell to his counsel once, and so you must be doubly on your guard. Do not show him the slightest weakness which he may exploit.

"You must fight, the path you have taken demands it, but take care not to become something worse than the monsters you slay. There can be no victory in that.

"We will speak again. Your time in this place will give you no rest and you will need it for the trials ahead."

Saunder felt darkness overtaking him, but it was not like the darkness of the wood. It was the calming darkness of sleep.


	23. Decisions

_Decisions_

Ciara breathed relief and took a draught from her waterskin as she walked down the final stretch of the mountain the caravan had spent the past two days descending. The water did little or nothing for her wind-burned lips but at least gave the illusion of relief.

"They call this place Settlestone," said Kyner, motioning to the collection of monolithic stone buildings that dominated the vale the caravan was descending into, "it's also called the Ruin."

"I hope our stay is short," Selinde half-muttered, eying Settlestone.

"If it's dwarves you're concerned about you need not worry," said Kyner, "they keep to Mithral Hall except for trading forays. You will likely see fewer than a dozen of them. The stair of Mithral Hall is hewn into the rock of that eastern mountain," Kyner continued, pointing into the distance, "though I admit my eyesight is too far gone to see it now."

Ciara looked into the distant blur, knowing that her eyesight was only slightly better than Kyner's, despite being less than half his age. Life at Noatun Keep had left her somewhat near-sighted.

"I hope your future assessments are more accurate Lord Kyner," Kyner started to tell Selinde not to call him lord but didn't get the chance, "we have not yet reached Settlestone, and I now see several _hundred_ dwarves descending the very stair you just described."

Kyner almost laughed but could tell that the elven woman was not joking.

"It sounds like there is something going on down there too," said Ciara. She could dimly see people quickly moving about the monoliths of Settlestone.

"They look to be mostly humans," said Selinde, "tall ones, and well-armed."

"Those would be Uthgardt barbarians," said Kyner.

"Can we trust them?" asked Ciara.

"I've had dealings with them before. They are savages, but honest savages. We have nothing to fear from them if we respect them. Still, we need to find out what is happening."

"Could the dwarves be attacking the barbarians?" asked Ciara.

"I doubt it," said Kyner, "the dwarves of Mithral Hall and the Uthgardt have long been friends. Uthgardt warriors aided the dwarves when they were beset by drow less than twenty years ago. Come, let's see what this is about."

* * *

"Good day to you!" Kyner had to shout to get the Uthgardt warrior's attention.

"What do you want?" asked the warrior, the way he glanced every which way as he spoke hinted that he had much to do.

"I merely want to know what is going on."

"I don't have the time to give you the details but a horde of twisted ones, orcs and ogres, was seen descending from the Spine of the World to the east. They've been cutting their way through the Moonwood and are coming here."

The warrior shot a glance at the caravan that Kyner had left behind, then looked at Kyner's companions, "this is no place for women. If you go to the river you should be able to catch a boat away from this place before they're all gone. Only Uthgardt boats will remain if you wait too long, and we will not be going anywhere before the last twisted one falls."

"Thank you warrior," said Kyner, "Tempus be with you in your battle."

The warrior only nodded before making his way.

"If what he says is true then we must leave this place quickly," said Selinde.

"Aye," responded Kyner as he shook his head, "our pursuers are tenacious in the least. I know the way to the river."

"I'm not going," Ciara's words took Kyner by surprise and he visibly stumbled as he halted in his steps.

"What?"

"I'm not going to let more people die because I didn't dare defend myself."

"Ciara–"

"You say I need to be ready for battle, but what good will your training do me if I never have the chance to put it to use. If I keep running, our enemies will just get stronger while we accomplish nothing.

The intensity faded from Kyner's face and his shoulders slackened.

"You can't protect me forever."

Kyner looked at Ciara as if she had just wrenched a knife in his gut. _The gods know I would._

"You're right Ciara," he said at last, it sounded like he was admitting to a defeat, "I won't always be there for you," then he added with grim determination, "we stay."


	24. Evasion

_Evasion_

The convoy of covered wagons had been steadily ambling westward. Crouched between two barrels with a crate covering her head, Sadira waited in the position she had occupied for the greater part of the past day. Saemon had insisted on keeping her hidden, and seemed certain that people were looking for her but had promised that he would see her to Berdusk, confident that Sadira's pursuers would not go that far.

As the wagon continued on its trek, Sadira began to distinctly hear the noises of a city. _This means I'll have to be doubly quiet,_ she realized. Not long after that the wagon stopped, and Sadira thought she heard more voices at the front of the convoy, though what they were saying was hardly distinct.

Moments later, she heard footsteps coming to the rear of the wagon. The crate over her head was lifted and Sadira winced at the bright light, then saw the wagon's driver, a man named Stevan.

"Get up, now," the he said, while pulling one of the barrels out of the way.

"What's wrong?" Sadira asked as she stood, her stiff legs protesting.

"A squad of paladins have stopped us. Saemon is stalling for time but they're insisting on inspecting every wagon. Now come."

Hurriedly, Sadira grabbed her satchel and followed Stevan as he clambered down the back of the wagon. Her feet had only hit the ground when she was seized around the waist by an iron-shod arm. After a gauntleted fist to the back of his head, Stevan lay on the ground with a bleeding nose and a sword pointed down at him.

"Captain," shouted the knight who held Sadira, "we have the fugitive."

Only moments later a paladin armored from head to foot emerged around the side of the wagon. His eyes were all that could be seen, and they burned with an ardent, self-righteous zeal. The captain was followed by a rather ashen Saemon Havarian.

"Stevan!" he exclaimed, "how could you do this? I have employed you for so long, how could you betray my trust by harboring a murderer?"

"Saemon you double-crosser," Stevan said through clenched teeth.

"Stay on the ground," ordered the knight standing over him.

Abruptly, Stevan batted the sword away from his face and surged to his feet. The driver wasted no time producing a knife from one of his sleeves and lunging at Saemon, but his lunge was interrupted when the captain connected a gauntleted fist with his chest.

The opportunity was not lost on Sadira, who twisted violently away from her captor's grasp and ran into the nearest alley.

"Don't let her escape!" Saemon yelled as she ran, "I've no doubt she's stolen money from me!"

Sadira made it into the alley but could hear the heavily armored knights running after her. She took the first turn in the alley and darted across a street, past confused city dwellers, and then into another alley. After repeating this pattern several times Sadira stopped in a vacant alley, gasping for breath.

_It'd be foolish to keep running like that. I'll only draw attention to myself._

Looking up, the young woman realized that the scale of the buildings in this city was unlike anything she had seen. The buildings in Suzail may have been larger than the buildings in this city, but here every building reached up to colossal heights. Elaborate spires battled for attention.

_This must be Iriaebor, the city of spires._ _But where can I go from here? Going east will only take me back toward Elversult. Going north or west will take me toward Baldur's Gate, but I've heard of how dangerous it is to travel there. I have to go south, toward Amn._

_But I can't travel in broad daylight. I have to find somewhere to wait._

Sadira carefully wound her way through the alleys until she came across a row of disenfranchised people leaning against the back of a tower that probably belonged to some wealthy noble or merchant. No one paid any mind when she sat down with the other outcasts and stared upward, noticing the breezeways connecting many of the great towers. At length Sadira looked back down and pulled her cowl over her head.

* * *

While Sadira waited, the sun steadily trekked over the sky and began to descend. _Only a few hours of sunlight left, then I should be able to slip out the south gates._

The sky over Iriaebor was permeated with an orange glow as the sun began to set and Sadira was certain she would be out of the city soon. Then she heard the sound of greaves pounding on the alleyway and looked to see a knight, wearing the same armor as the paladins she been ambushed by earlier, leading a group soldiers who appeared to be town guardsmen, since they were armored only in mail shirts.

Light from the setting sun gleamed off the leading knight's plate armor in a fiery orange as he charged and, Sadira was certain, the knight was staring directly at her. Adrenaline seized Sadira as she leapt to her feet and ran. When the woman emerged onto the street she quickly took in her surroundings. The street was nearly empty, and Sadira realized why when she saw more town guards led by paladins blocking both sides of the street.

Trapped on three sides, Sadira flung open the door of the nearest building and ran up the stairwell, pushing merchants and others out of the way.

After reaching the third floor, she could hear her pursuers chasing after her amid the protests and complaints of merchants as they were pushed aside. Sadira was grateful her pursuers were encumbered with armor, else they may have caught her already. Without wasting a breath, she seized a table by its end and pushed it down the stairwell, ignoring the horrified and baffled countenances of the merchants watching her.

Sadira began running up the stairwell again and heard the yells of the surprised guardsmen below as they met the table. When the young woman had made it to the top of the sixth floor she was met by a pair of merchant's guards wearing leather jerkins and armed with truncheons. Almost reflexively, Sadira turned about and rapidly descended the stairwell, this time getting off on the floor below. Across from the spiral stair Sadira saw a set of doors opening onto a breezeway leading to another building. The young woman was already crossing the bridge while her pursuers were still getting off the stairwell.

Once Sadira was inside the other building, she closed and locked the wooden doors behind her while hoping that no one giving chase had an axe. After walking at a brisk pace down a short corridor, Sadira came to a lobby of sorts where everyone was going about their business. Those who looked in Sadira's direction scowled, but said nothing. Receiving such scowls made Sadira aware that she had not washed since before her capture.

_I must smell like a peasant._

Maybe one of the pursuers did have an axe, or else they simply bashed the door open. Either way, Sadira heard the yelling of paladins and guardsmen as they rushed into the lobby. Sadira saw another breezeway to her left and wasted no time crossing it.

A paladin began to follow the young woman across the bridge when a guard held him back.

"What are you doing?" the knight demanded angrily.

"You don't want to cross that bridge," the guard returned.

"That's Nazario's tower," said another, "he's a wizard, most people say he's mad."

"It's not wise to cross a wizard."

"Very well," said the paladin, "If we can't go in we can make sure that she doesn't get out. Post guards on every breezeway and around the perimeter of the building's base."

* * *

The building Sadira entered was extremely warm and she removed her cloak. The room connecting to the breezeway had only one other exit, but the door seemed off, since it was situated a foot above floor. Sadira had to jump to reach the doorknob, and she was taller than most. 

Once she opened the door she had to climb over and into the next room. The room contained all of the usual furniture for a sitting room, table, chairs, and a few couches, but all of these were on the ceiling. _What have I walked into? _Sadira asked herself.

Eager to find a way out, Sadira opened the nearest door and saw a ramp descending to the floor below; on the ceiling were what looked like the steps of a staircase. Carefully, Sadira put her right foot onto the ramp. Once she felt that foot was secure, she picked up her left foot and immediately slipped.

Sadira flung her arms in an exercise of futility then the back of her head struck the ramp. Once she regained her bearings, Sadira found herself at the bottom of the ramp with a pounding headache. Groaning, she stood.

The door at the bottom of the ramp opened into a stone chamber where coal braziers adorned each corner, filling the room with an orange glow. An iron set of double doors occupied the wall across the room. Sadira had only just stepped into the brazier room when a tongue of flame leapt from one brazier over to another and Sadira promptly backed into the stairwell. A moment later the fire leapt to yet another brazier, and to another soon after that. Sadira tried to gauge how long of a pause there was between jumps. Immediately after a jump, Sadira ran for the far door.

She had only made it to the middle of the room when the fire leapt from a brazier and landed only a few feet in front of her, the fire quickly congealed into lava and began to rise. Not wanting to know what the molten liquid was forming, Sadira ran past it and pulled on the door. The heavy iron door barely moved.

Gritting her teeth, she yanked harder, then heard the bubbling mass of lava behind her. Sadira looked over her shoulder to see that the mass was nearly six feet tall, and looked to be growing arms. With another pull the door came free.

The woman heard a sharp hiss behind her as she threw the door open and dove onto the other side. Looking back, Sadira saw a fully formed creature of fire standing on the other side of the door, staring balefully at her. It hissed angrily before jumping toward one of the braziers, before landing, it had reverted back to a simple flame.

_It must be bound to that one room,_ Sadira decided, then turned to face the room she had entered. Every inch of wall, except for the doors, were covered by bookshelves. At the center of the room was a raised platform surrounded by columns, and at the center of the platform was a pedestal upon which was . . . Sadira squinted but could see nothing, only a space where everything was black.

There was one other door in the room, a small wooden one, flanked by two iron golems, each nearly twice the height of a man and three times as thick. Hoping that it would lead outside, Sadira approached the door and pulled it open to see an iron portcullis blocking her way. Then she heard a mocking laughter in her head. But it was not the voice that usually spoke to her.

_Silly child, you have wandered into my home, do you really think I'll let you leave so soon? My golems are rusting from lack of practice._

The golems suddenly came to life; each faced Sadira menacingly. The golem on Sadira's right swung and pulverized the wooden door when Sadira ducked. The young woman scrambled backward before either of the golems could swing at her again.

When she felt her foot hit the edge of the platform, Sadira turned around and quickly ascended the steps, all too aware of the golems lumbering along not far behind her. Looking at the door she had come in from, Sadira saw the fire elemental standing in the doorway. Finally she turned to the pedestal.

Now that she was closer, Sadira could see that the black space on top of the pedestal was coming from a single point.

_Yes,_ said the voice Sadira knew from before. Reaching out, she seized that darkness, or whatever was at it's center. It felt like a stone, and was immensely cold. Sadira tried to withdraw her hand but couldn't. Whatever it was, the stone now had hold over her. Black tendrils quickly snaked out from the dark space and began to envelope her.

There was no escape, the coldness was suffocating. Sadira closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she could see nothing but shadow.


	25. Choke Points

_Choke Points_

Kyner moved among the rushing dwarves and barbarians as he navigated the maze of monolithic stone buildings. Settlestone had become a hive of activity, ever-hastening as the inevitable battle drew closer. Finally Kyner was able to maneuver his way to the southern side of the Ruin.

There was less activity here, save for a few dwarves checking the palisades to ensure they would hold for as long as possible. A large group of armored and stone-faced dwarves stood about the palisades. Few of them talked but all looked ready for the fight. Ciara was standing apart from the main group, leaning against the wall of one of the towering monolithic buildings.

Kyner looked up at the tall building. _If it comes to it, we should be able to hold out for several hours in those buildings. _Kyner turned his gaze back to Ciara, who saw him at about the same moment. _Hells, I wish I could stay here so I could keep my eyes on her._

"Hello Kyner," said Ciara as she and Kyner embraced.

Kyner appraised Ciara's armor as he drew back, "Good dwarven armor," said Kyner. The armor was a dark gray and the cuirass was damascened with copper inlay. Rerebraces were integrated into the cuirass and elbow gauntlets protected the rest of Ciara's arms. A mail fauld hung to her knees and met the tops of Ciara's greaves. "This is a very good suit of armor," Kyner said, "it would catch a fortune in the realms, especially damascened such as it is. It's not too heavy is it?"

"No," Ciara said, "not nearly as heavy as that hauberk you made me wear during your training sessions."

"You're still angry at me over that are you?"

"I wasn't even twelve!"

"You survived, didn't you?" Ciara glared at Kyner, who couldn't help but chuckle, remembering how ridiculous the girl had looked when he first made her don the old hauberk. "I'll have you know that hauberk saved my life many times in my youth."

"I think it had long outlived its usefulness by the time it got to me," Ciara muttered, although she was smiling now. Kyner laughed, but when he looked out past the palisades and to the fog that hid the Surbin River, his expression became somber again.

"How long do you think we have?" Ciara asked.

"I estimate four or five more hours before they break through the Moonwood, we can't be sure though. Scouts have reported that they're moving along the spine of the world as well. So the pass we came down through will have to be guarded as well. I wish I had more men," Kyner paused, and his brow creased with worry, "is _he _here?"

"The Bhaalspawn?" Ciara asked. Kyner nodded. "He is. But, I don't think he's moving forward, not yet."

"Do you think he can be stopped if he decides to intervene personally?"

"I don't know," Ciara replied.

Kyner grunted, "This battle is fraught with uncertainties." The warrior looked out at the fog again, "The company I'm with will be going to the bridge soon."

"I can't go with you?"

"No," Kyner grimaced, "the fight on the bridge will be a frenzied one. Stay behind the palisades. It will be much safer here."

"Then why even try to hold the bridge?"

"Like the pass, it's a choke point, we can grind down their numbers with minimal losses to ourselves. It's too bad the bridge is so well built, otherwise we could have just destroyed it."

"Dwarves build things to last don't they?" Ciara observed.

Kyner smiled grimly, "They certainly do." Kyner saw the spear leaning against the building where Ciara had been standing. "The dwarves gave you that?" asked Kyner as he took up the weapon and inspected it.

"They did," Ciara responded.

"It's good craftsmanship. The orcs we've observed are mostly wearing leather jerkins and scale mail corselets. A spear of this quality will easily pierce both. I'd say this spear will fell a great number of orcs before breaking. The tip is also broad so it will make an effective slashing–"

"Kyner," Ciara interrupted.

Kyner seemed to snap out of a reverie as he looked up to face Ciara, "Yes?"

"I've already considered all of that."

"Well," Kyner said, flustered, "I'm talking to myself then." Kyner handed Ciara her spear. "I've taught you everything I know about martial combat."

"And drilled it into my head and muscles since before I was twelve," Ciara commented.

"I just wanted you to be ready," Kyner laughed bitterly, "would you believe that I thought you would never have to use what I taught you? I truly believed that you would never have to kill," Kyner shook his head, "It's a rare moment when events turn out how I expect. And now I'm ranting when I need to be moving."

"I'll see you at the battle's end Ciara, I know you will do well. Just don't try to be a hero."

* * *

A thick mist hung over the land and the river foaming with deadly rapids. _That should make the job easier for Selinde's raiding party. Then again, it could just as easily get her killed._ Kyner tried to push the thought away, knowing that it could accomplish nothing, and concentrated on leading the column of dwarves in his charge to the bridge.

The bridge was nearly an hour's march from Settlestone and it was difficult for Kyner to know whether or not he was going in the right direction through the fog. But the stone-faced dwarven hundredman, Kovar, had not questioned Kyner so far. Although most of the stone bridge was obscured by mists, Kyner knew, from seeing it before, that the bridge was roughly forty feet across and spanned nearly three hundred feet across the violent Surbin River. Each end of the bridge had a massive gate with accompanying guard towers.

A handful of dwarves standing on the bridge's edge beneath the gate parapets became clear through the mist. Kyner could see the relief on their faces as they saw the column and examined the dwarves as he drew closer. Each dwarf held a crossbow, and their bolt quivers were all nearly empty.

"It's good to see some more of our own," said the dwarf who, by his armor and tone, seemed to be in charge, "we've been harried by orcish skirmishers for some time now."

"Are any of you hurt or wounded?" Kyner asked.

"Nay," the dwarf responded. Our armor is too thick for all but a well placed arrow and, shooting from the gate parapets and towers, it's difficult for the orcs to hit us."

"That's good to hear," Kyner said, "the gates are closed correct?"

"They are, but unbarred, we were going to wait until the raiders got back before we barred them. Unless ye have new instructions?"

"No, no new instructions. Are you willing to stay or do you want to return to Settlestone?"

"We could use a resupply on bolts but me and my men are more'n willing to stay and lend you a hand when the horde comes."

"Thank you, good dwarf, what is your name?"

"Moricz."

"Moricz, I will not forget," Kyner turned to the column of dwarves he had led, over a hundred of them, and raised his voice in a manner he had not done for nearly thirty years, "Crossbowmen, mount the parapets. Squads one through three will guard the outer gate while squads four and five will guard the inner gate. All melee combatants will assume mass formation before the outer gate. Squad leaders, take charge of your squads and execute."

Kyner was impressed by the speed and order with which the dwarves followed through on his orders. While Kyner had expected insubordination to be a problem–he was, after all, an outsider–he had not yet encountered any difficulties. Kovar also helped to expedite the process. A hundredman of his talents was essential for the success of any officer.

Kyner made his way to the parapet of the outer gate and looked out across what little he could see of the landscape. A fair amount of the land between the Moonwood and the bridge was visible but edge of the wood was hidden beneath the fog.

"Kovar!" Kyner shouted.

"Aye?" the hundredman responded.

Kyner looked down to where Kovar was, on the floor of the bridge, "We can't see the Moonwood from this vantage. Send your fastest runners out as lookouts."

"Consider it done," Kovar responded with his booming voice as he wandered off to select his runners.

Kyner looked back over the setup of the bridge. _We should be able to hold this point for some time. When we lose the outer gate we can retreat to the inner gate. Solid dwarven stonework like this should be able to withstand most forms of attack, including those based on magic and alchemy. The gate doors are several inches thick each and have been blessed with protection spells. Unless if the protections are dispelled, the buffs should last for several hours. But the priests are coming soon. Perhaps they can reinforce the buffs._ Then Kyner remembered the pass to the northeast of Settlestone. _If that pass is lost then this bridge will become a death trap._

The heavy gate doors grated noisily on the stone bridge as they opened slightly in order to let the runners out. Kyner could plainly hear Kovar urging them to move faster and couldn't help but smile somewhat. Kovar was not at all dissimilar from Diream Latrator, a warrior Kyner had once fought beside. Diream had been one of the best hundredmen Kyner had known, until the man was awarded nobility because of his success during the Battle of Escalant.

Shouting from the runners brought Kyner out of his reverie. The crossbowmen on the parapet put their weapons to full cock. Kyner leaned forward on the battlement to get a better view but failed to even see one of the runners. Then a hoarse shout from a runner indicated the all-clear and the crossbowmen relaxed.

Seconds later the raiding party came into view, a column of Uthgardt warriors with bows and axes flanked by a cloaked elven woman. "Thank the gods," Kyner said as he descended the parapet.

The gate doors swung open to admit the tired raiders. Kyner was worried to see that there were fewer of them than he had expected, all of them looked to have seen thick combat.

"How many men did you lose?" Kyner asked, as Selinde and the barbarians neared.

"Eleven," said one of the barbarians, "including our sub-chieftain, Ulrich."

Selinde drew back her hood as she approached. Her hair was matted with blood that had splattered on her torn cloak and elven chain mail as well. Her bow was slung across her back and her quiver was spent. Selinde clung to her long sword with a white-knuckled grip.

"Everything was going smoothly until we stumbled between two companies of orcs in the mist," Selinde said.

Kyner stepped forward and Selinde continued more quietly, "Hells, they were counting on me, my elven senses to lead them out of the wood, not into a blunder! We were on our way out of the woods and I got careless."

One of the Uthgardt overheard, "Do not blame yourself Selinde, had you not been there we would have stumbled into many more orcs and none of us would have come back alive."

Selinde only grimaced.

"You should listen to him," Kyner said, "warfare, particularly in conditions like this, is unpredictable at best. Raids are perhaps the most unpredictable element within warfare. To return alive from one is an accomplishment. Learn from your mistakes and do not let them burden you with guilt." Selinde nodded slightly but did not seem wholly consoled. _Only time can do that_, Kyner thought as he addressed the rest of the Uthgardt, "Priests will be arriving soon. You may wait for them at the end of the bridge. If anyone is critically injured, I do have healing potions."

"They won't be needed," said one of the barbarians, "the ones who were injured most didn't make it."

Kyner nodded solemnly, "How close do you estimate the orcs are?"

"It's hard to say," Selinde replied, "maybe an hour or two, they move slowly. But I expect their pace will increase when they know they are close to the battle."

Kyner nodded, "As I said, the priests will be here soon, have them tend your wounds, but I don't advise staying here long. You should all return to Settlestone as soon as you can."

Kyner spent the next hour and a half inspecting and reinspecting the bridge defenses. During that time the priests came and treated the Uthgardt's wounds, who subsequently returned to Settlestone. Kyner ensured that there were plenty of rocks and stones on the parapets to drop on the orcs. After an hour Kyner stayed constantly on the parapet. The old warrior was beginning to remember how oppressively boring battle could be. After what seemed an eternity, the lookouts started running back to the gate giving the 'they're here' signal. The outer gate opened narrowly to allow the lookouts in while other dwarves prepared to bar the gate as soon as the lookouts were safely behind the gate. Soon after the priests to begin casting their blessings on the dwarves and curses on the orcs.

Kyner watched raptly as the orcs came into view and didn't wait to give the order to fire at will. The dozens of bolts that flew from the gates seemed like little more than a joke against the approaching storm of orcs. Then, as the orcs came closer, they began hitting the triggered exploding potions that had been lain in the ground, scattering orcs, and parts of orcs, into the air and across the ground. While the explosions were impressive, and brought cheers from the dwarves, Kyner knew that they were doing little more than making dents.

When the orcs came up against the gates they could do little more than beat at it with their weapons while bolts, stones and rocks rained down on them. After losing many trying to take the gate, several orcs tried to run only to be turned back by their taskmasters.

Kyner hurriedly donned his helm when an orcish arrow flew overhead, silently cursing himself for not doing so earlier. As time wore on and the orcs still failed to bring the gate down they began throwing their weapons at those on the parapets, spears, darts, axes, and even swords. Most of the weapons simply clattered off the parapet. The few that made it over the parapet were easily avoided and fell harmlessly. At Kovar's insistence they were usually thrown back down. The arrows had the potential to be far more deadly but those were few and far between. Despite the lack of progress the orcs had been able to make, Kyner was worried.

_If I don't do this right, numbers will tell the tale. I need to think of a way to tip the scales. These gates won't last forever._

* * *

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the tall barbarian asked Selinde as she approached.

"My name is Selinde, I just returned with a raiding party. The rest of the party returned to Settlestone but I had hoped to join your ranks here at the pass."

The tall barbarian appraised Selinde, noting her empty quiver and the bow on her back.

"If you wish to fight from afar, my bowmen have no arrows to spare."

"My blade still cuts well enough," Selinde replied, unsheathing her gleaming sword.

"A fine weapon," the barbarian commented, "you may join us, but stay at the rear of the formation, at least until opportunity presents itself."

"I will," Selinde said, and proceeded further down the pass.

She could plainly see the Uthgardt longbowmen on the ridges that rose above the pass and there was a thick press of barbarians within the pass. They were eagerly waiting for the orcs. Many of them regarded Selinde with suspicious eyes.

The number of people staring only increased when Selinde began meditating in order to regain some of the energy she had lost during the raid. But Selinde filtered the staring eyes out of her perception and focused her mind inward. The outside world was reduced to a shadow and a dull throb. Selinde soaked in the calm at the void's edge. Until the dull throb increased to a more rapid, pulsating throb. Selinde snapped out of her trance and jumped to her feet.

The sounds of clashing steel echoed throughout the pass and the snaps of bowstrings from the ridges over the pass could be dimly heard. Judging from the light, Selinde guessed that less than an hour had passed. Selinde drew her sword and started toward the chaos, swearing a silent oath to Corellon Larethian, elven god of war, that a hundred orcs would pay for the death of her father.

The Uthgardt yelled savage battlecries as they clashed with the orcs in the narrow pass. "Save some for the rest of us!" several of the barbarians in the rear of the formation yelled. Selinde wove her way through the thick press of barbarians and managed to maneuver to the front.

It was clear that the Uthgardt had the advantage. The tall barbarians carved their way forward with axe and sword while the orcs were constantly being whipped back to the battle. Selinde saw an orc run forward to backstab an Uthgardt and quickly stepped up to deliver a strike that deftly beheaded the orc then parried with the flat of her blade as another orc attempted to halve her with its great axe. The orc's axe was too ungainly to effectively maneuver and Selinde easily finished the orc. Her next swing was parried by an orc but the same orc fell victim to an Uthgardt's axe.

Selinde waded deeper into the orcish horde. Elven steel rung with every strike and cut through orc-mail like paper. Many Orcs tried to back away from the elven swordswoman but only found themselves backing into those trying to escape the barbarian's blades. More barbarians rushed forward to fill the widening gap that Selinde had created. Soon, the whips were not enough and the orcs began to flee.

Selinde led the charge as the barbarians gave chase, her face a mask of impassiveness covering the hatred that lay beneath.


	26. Tenacity

_Tenacity_

The mists were fading. Ciara could see more clearly across the vale in which Settlestone was situated. But she could not see far enough to descry the bridge Kyner said he would be defending, nor the pass. A handful of bloodied Uthgardt warriors had arrived about an hour ago. From others, Ciara learned that Selinde had led them, but elected to guard the pass instead of returning to Settlestone with the others. Waiting. Ciara was tired of waiting.

She stood guard with a number of dwarves along the palisade wall that now surrounded Settlestone, the product of a night hard spent while King Gandalug of Mithral Hall, Chieftain Berkthgar of the Uthgardt, Kyner, and a number of other officers discussed battle plans. Kyner told Ciara that everyone had been hard-pressed to convince the Uthgardt to not meet the orcish legions on an open field, and barely convinced them. On slightly higher ground behind the war parties, like the one Ciara was a part of, stood the dwarven crossbowmen and Uthgardt bowmen. Heavily armored priests and robed wizards wandered the perimeter. Everyone was waiting.

* * *

A column of flame fell from the sky to consume several dozen orcs who were trying to pile on top of each other in order to reach the parapet over the gate.

"You'd think they would have learned after the fourth time not to try that again," Kyner commented.

"These are the blasted most stupid bloody arsed orcs I've ever lain eyes upon," responded one of the most foul mouthed priests Kyner had ever met; all the while crossbowmen continued to shoot bolts down onto the orcs as they futilely beat at the gates. In the past three hours the crossbowmen had already emptied their quivers several times. It was fortunate that a large number of replacement bolts had been brought.

Then, Kyner noticed the orcs breaking off their assault on the gate and clearing a path that probably went from the gate to the Moonwood.

"That can't be a good omen," Kovar rasped. Then the ground began to shake and the orcs groveled.

"Gods help us," Kyner muttered, while the giant itself was obscured, the movement in the mists hinted at its size. If Kyner guessed right, the parapet only reached to the top of the giant's chest.

"It had to be a bloody frost giant too," Kovar muttered as it drew closer.

Kyner turned to address the dwarves, "Crossbowmen, priests, move to the inner gate parapet. Melee combatants, back away from the outer gates and expect them to be broken shortly."

Turning back, Kyner saw the giant rapidly approaching with earthshaking steps, brandishing a hammer with a head the size of a wagon, a cloud of icy mist bellowed from its mouth with every breath.

The inner gate swung open as the crossbowmen evacuated the outer parapet. Kyner descended to the bridge and stood at the fore of the melee combatants, all of whom were armed with spears, axes or war-hammers, and broad shields.

"Kovar, stand on the inner parapet. Leave the gates open and be ready to retreat if the giant tries to come through. If something happens, don't wait for us."

"Aye, understood. I'll get to it then," Kovar replied boisterously as he went to carry out his orders.

The gates buckled as the giant laid the first stroke of his hammer upon it. Kyner closed the visor of his helm and drew his great sword. The mist seemed thicker on the floor of the bridge. _Today is certainly an ugly day to die. _The giant's second swing splintered the gate. Kyner tightened his grip on Issgar's hilt when, after another swing the gate began to break open. With the next swing the fractured gates burst open, and orcs began to spill onto the bridge.

Kyner brought his sword down into a trailing guard position at his side and charged at the orcs, with dozens of dwarven spearmen at his back. The orcs charged with lowered polearms, a mixture of halberds, spears, tridents, pole-axes and others.

Kyner met the orcs with a broad-arced rising cut that severed the heads of the closest polearms. The next swing cut through orcish leather as if it were nothing more than cloth, to say nothing of what lay beneath. Dwarven tower shields and armor warded away any but the most direct strikes by orcish polearms while orcish armor was as easily pierced as cut. Kyner delivered powerful strikes with his great sword that hewed armor, flesh, and weapons while at the same time staying close to the protective hedge of dwarven spears.

The onslaught soon relented in its fervor and the orcs began to retreat. Brandishing spears, several dwarves charged after the fleeing orcs.

"Get back here you bloody fools," Kyner barked above the clamor of the retreating orcs, "we hold the line here! If you give chase you will find yourself facing the entire horde. Now reform the line!"

* * *

A running orc tripped when its foot was caught by a crag in the rocky pass. The orc fell and looked up only in time to see the bright elven blade that severed his head. Selinde hardly slowed as she continued to pursue the routed orcs through the pass, cutting down all the stragglers that got in her way, the others were slain by charging barbarians with no less enthusiasm.

Then the pass opened and the orcs parted to either side. As the fleeing orcs split, Selinde saw what she should have expected, rows of orcish archers who unleashed a hail of arrows at their taskmaster's bellow.

As the volley of arrows descended a rough hand pulled Selinde to the ground and she found herself beneath the round shield of an Uthgardt barbarian. Half a dozen arrows pierced the shield and countless others fell unnervingly close. The elven woman gasped when an arrow perforated the shield, its tip poised mere inches above her face.

The barbarian lowered his shield and stood. Selinde came to her feet to see that a group of armored figures, much too tall to be orcs, were approaching with confident ease. A quick glance revealed that barely a dozen of the fifty or so barbarians that she had charged with were still standing. Selinde and the Uthgardt slowly backed away from the advancing figures, who wielded all manner of weapons, from great swords to war hammers.

"It seems our fury has gotten the better of us," the tall barbarian said.

_I'm responsible for this. An even worse blunder than before._

"We can't hold here," Selinde said, "retreat!"

Outnumbered, the barbarians turned and ran. One of the armored foes bellowed a warcry and many of the enormous warriors broke ranks to give chase. Looking over her shoulder, Selinde saw that her pursuers were rapidly gaining, with their enormous legs, the armored warriors could cover ground much more quickly than even the tall barbarians.

One of the Uthgardt had apparently reached the same conclusion and ran into a cleft in the pass. Hoping that it would lead somewhere, Selinde followed, and heard a few other Uthgardt behind her. The cleft was wide; wide enough, Selinde feared, for the armored warriors to follow. While the path made a few turns, there were no divergences, and the walls were too sheer to scale. Selinde ran into the warrior she had followed. He had stopped at a slight widening in the cleft.

"We can fight them here," he said.

Four other Uthgardt arrived seconds after Selinde.

"They are close behind," said one of them.

"We should keep running," Selinde advised.

"And then what? Just die out of breath instead of fighting?"

"Does this path not narrow?" Selinde asked.

"No," said the warrior who had first run into it, "it widens not far from here."

"Then it is better to fight than to wait for them to catch up," the elven woman admitted.

"They come," said the barbarian who had saved Selinde as he hefted his war axe.

Three of the armored warriors were charging through the cleft, though they could not even stand two abreast. The first of the enemy warriors wielded a war hammer and a broad shield. The nearest Uthgardt thrust his spear at the foe but it deflected the spear with its shield and bashed the Uthgardt with its hammer, flinging the warrior's mangled body against the cleft wall.

Selinde tried to maneuver her way forward but the armored foe had already brought its hammer down on another Uthgardt, splintering his shield and then delivering the death blow. But the next Uthgardt to face the armored juggernaut ducked under the swing of the hammer and delivered a strike with his own mace, staggering his adversary. Seizing his opportunity, the Uthgardt rained blow after blow on the creature's chest and it began to fall backward.

Then Selinde watched with horror as a spear erupted from the defeated foe's chest and perforated the warrior who had slain it. The spear was promptly withdrawn and a new enemy shoved aside the corpses of the brave Uthgardt warrior and his own dead ally. Selinde brandished her sword and met the armored warrior's all-metal spear with elven steel. The weapons rung discordantly on impact, the elven and fell weapons seemed to dislike each other as much as their masters. The creature freed its spear and, being too close to attempt to run Selinde through, was satisfied with bashing her with the shaft.

The elf was knocked against the wall but retained her balance and avoided the opportunistic sword of the armored creature behind the one she was fighting. Still, she couldn't avoid it when her foe slammed the shaft of its spear against her neck, choking her. Pressed against the wall, Selinde struggled vainly. Then an axe fell before her eyes and clove her enemy's arm off at the elbow, dark green blood from the wound sprayed onto Selinde's cloak and mail.

The armored creature bellowed a cry of pain and the elven woman added to that anguish by driving her sword through a soft spot in the creature's armor, a gap just above the knee cop. Selinde's blade perforated the knee and reached the back of the calf before she withdrew it. But the elven woman didn't have time to gloat over her victory as the creature fell back against the cleft wall. Her final armored nemesis attacked with its great sword.

After ducking under the massive sword, Selinde surged forward and made to impale her opponent but her sword, keen as it was, merely glanced off her foe's breastplate. The armored creature raised its sword and, not having enough room to make a swing, tried to bash Selinde with the pommel. Instead, the elf darted behind her opponent.

Selinde was raising her sword for an attack when a spear point burst from her foe's backplate. When the vanquished creature fell, Selinde saw the two remaining Uthgardt warriors on the other side, one of them held the spear that had recently been used by one of the black-armored warriors.

"I would keep that spear," Selinde advised, "so far as we've seen, it's the only thing that can pierce their armor."

"I intend to," the Uthgardt responded. The other barbarian had doffed his shield and mace to pick up the war hammer of the other armored warrior, apparently the weapon was too large to be used by a single hand.

Selinde took a brief look down at the great sword dropped by the last enemy to fall, but could tell that it was far too heavy for her to wield. Curious, Selinde pulled the helm off the warrior she was standing over. Beneath was a half-ogre's face. Stepping over the corpses of the armored warriors, Selinde saw the body of an Uthgardt warrior. His shield had been rent apart and he still clung to his battle axe. _The one who shielded me from the arrows only minutes ago._

"What is this warrior's name?" Selinde asked.

"His name is Burian," said one of the Uthgardt.

"He met his end well," said the other.

"As has everyone today," Selinde said softly. _Sehanine Moonbow guide you on your journey to what lies beyond this world, Burian._

"We ought to be going, we can come back and bury these men later."

"We should check the pass," Selinde decided.

* * *

Selinde and the remaining two Uthgardt, Tibor, and Rezar, approached the pass quietly, and could hear the clamor of activity coming from it. Scores of orcs were being driven down the pass, urged on by curses and whips. They were all too busy to notice the two Uthgardt and the elf watching them.

"I don't see any more half-ogres," observed Rezar.

"Indeed," said Selinde, "we need to get back to Settlestone."

Tibor laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked Selinde.

"We're on the wrong side of the pass," said Tibor.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you ran into this cleft," said Rezar.

"I saw an opportunity and I took it," Tibor replied, "If you want, you can try and run across to the other side."

Selinde tried to remember what she could of the pass, it was the very one she, Kyner and Ciara had descended only yesterday.

"Tibor, Rezar," the two stopped bickering for a moment and faced Selinde, "you two know this pass well?"

"We've lived here for some time," Rezar said.

"When I was descending this pass the other day I saw a dangerous looking group of rocks on the way down. I must admit, I was afraid that they might choose to crash down on the convoy I was traveling with at any moment."

"Rock falls are not uncommon here," said Tibor.

"Big ones?" asked Selinde.

Tibor seemed to understand where Selinde was going, "Big enough to cause some trouble to those orcs," he said with a smile.

* * *

"Maintain ranks and you will survive!" Kyner shouted above the din of orcish warcries. The dwarves had maintained close formation, a wall of spears upon which the orcs broke like water while Kyner's great sword held orcish polearms at bay. _Thank the gods these fool orcs have no pikes,_ thought Kyner. A mound of orcish bodies lay on the bridge's center. For, after every bout, the dwarves withdrew to the flanks of the bridge, so that they were not fighting on top of corpses during the next orcish charge. Only a handful of dwarves had fallen, and Kyner intended to keep it that way.

The orcs were making another charge. Whether motivated by the whips of their taskmasters or bloodlust, they tore recklessly across the bridge. Kyner hefted Issgar and the dwarves lowered their spears in readiness.

"Charge!" Kyner bellowed.

At the head of the dwarven formation, Kyner delivered the first strike to welcome the newest oricsh party to try and take the bridge. Issgar fell heavily in a descending cut that decapitated orcish polearms and orcs themselves. Most of the orcs were impaled on the hedge of dwarven spears, since only a few of them had weapons long enough to reach past those spears, let alone around their shields.

As had happened during every other orcish charge, the orcs realized their efforts were futile and ceased advancing in spite of the whips of their taskmasters. Many of them threw their weapons at the dwarves, but those clattered harmlessly off dwarven armor and shields. The dwarven formation steadily advanced and the orcs were forced to retreat until they found themselves being attacked by their taskmasters. During all of this, crossbow bolts rained on them from the inner parapet. Violently, the orc grunts would finally turn on their own masters until there was no one left standing to oppose the dwarves.

The orcs had already tried to bring in archers to bring down the dwarves, but their bows had proven to be too weak to penetrate dwarven armor, and Kyner could merely take cover among the dwarves until the orcs ran out of arrows. Apparently, the giant in charge had decided orcs were cheaper than arrows. It was not the first time Kyner had encountered such wanton disrespect for life on the part of a commander. The air on the bridge was even more thick with the smell of orcish dead once the latest batch finally retreated.

"Kyner!" shouted Kovar from the top of the inner parapet.

Kyner turned to face the dwarven hundredman, "yes?"

"A messenger just arrived, the pass is fallen."

"Blood-soaked hells," Kyner cursed, "Kovar, get the crossbowmen down from the parapet and run to the ruin! Do _not_ stop until you are there! Formation," Kyner addressed the melee combatants with him, "ranks one and two will stay here with me. Everyone else, the devils are at your heels and Settlestone needs every dwarf and man to defend it. I am honored to have fought with you, now move!"

With everyone else rapidly moving to escape, Kyner spoke to those who were staying with him, "I admire your discipline, all of you. We will stay here to buy our friends time but I assure you, I have no intention of dying here today. We will cover their escape for as long as is necessary."

Seeing their enemies in flight, the orcs were quick to mount another offensive. But it was something different this time. Several orcs pushed a wagon onto the bridge or, more accurately, a cage on wheels. Inside were a great number of worgs, gnashing their teeth at the orcs pushing them and trying to bite at them through the bars.

_They were waiting to use them, _thought Kyner,_ beasts are too valuable to waste, unlike orcs. _An orc opened the cage gate facing the dwarves and the worgs tore out of the cage. The orc was too slow to get out of their way and a hungry worg promptly hamstrung him while others set upon his neck. But the majority of the worgs recklessly charged at the dwarves. Whether by instinct or some kind of thought process, the animals formed a wedge as they ran, with the largest ones in the middle.

As they closed, Kyner was able to appreciate the size of these beasts, each of them was at least three times the size of a wolf, and their red eyes glared balefully.

The front line of worgs gored themselves on the dwarven spears and Kyner's great sword but the animals were hardly phased. More worgs leapt over the bodies of their fallen and often landed inside the dwarven formation. The hedge of spears crumbled as dwarves had to abandon their spears for axes, swords, or hammers.

Issgar hacked through worg skin as easily as through orc armor, but the dwarven spears were not so effective. The worgs were so maddened with animal bloodlust that they continued to struggle even after being perforated. After Kyner hewed the head off the worg that was attacking him, he saw a new contingent of orcs charging across the bridge, yelling battlecries in their guttural tongue.

Looking over his shoulder, Kyner saw that the dwarves were too few for the new onslaught. The worgs may have been slaughtered in the process, but they had broken the formation.

* * *

All of the companies had been called to readiness. Ciara stood with the dwarves along the palisade wall, and could do nothing but watch as scores of barbarians and dwarves ran across the field and toward the Ruin's gate, their flanks harried by orcish arrows.

A leaden weight had settled in Ciara's gut. She had heard that the pass had fallen, and that the bridge was cut off. _But Kyner is still alive_, _I am certain of it._ Yet that feeling helped little when Ciara did not see her foster-father among those coming to the ruin. The field began to swarm with orcs as they pored down from the pass. With tongue and whip, the orcish overseers goaded their thralls into a semi-circle facing the hastily built defenses of the ruin.

"Thousands of them," muttered one of the dwarves beside Ciara, "and more coming."

"Look up, you," ordered his sergeant, and even louder, "one stout dwarf is worth a dozen scrawny mountain orcs. What makes a soldier?" the sergeant loudly demanded of his men.

"Discipline!" responded the troop.

"Truth. Armed with temperaments of iron and cold steel, the orcs will break upon us like waves on a rocky cliff. To no avail!"

"Strength of arms, solidarity of purpose," the troop intoned.

Wailing a chorus of profane warcries, the orcs began their uneven charge. The mages atop the monolithic towers of settlestone began their casting. Fireballs and lightning bolts descended on the horde, scattering the bodies of orcs like insects.

But still they came, and some distance behind the orcs walked a tower of a figure with frost billowing from its maw.


	27. Penance of Failure

_Penance of Failure_

Tibor had spent the past half-hour leading Selinde and Rezar up craggy slopes toward a ridge high above the pass. The Uthgardt had insisted on taking the most circumspect approach and, at length, the three came upon the ridge. A handful of orcs and a half-ogre stood on top of the ridge, facing the pass. Selinde motioned the others to stay a fair distance behind.

With elven adroitness, Selinde noiselessly ascended the last part of the slope below the ridge and climbed onto it. Turning, Selinde motioned the Uthgardt to approach and crept up behind the half-ogre.

Knowing that there were only a few weak spots in the monster's armor, Selinde aimed carefully and drove her sword into the hollow between the half-ogre's thigh and shin plates. The creature cursed incomprehensibly as it fell onto one knee and the two Uthgardt took that as their cue.

Selinde removed her sword from the half-ogre's leg and brought it around to hew off the leg of the nearest orc. Tibor dashed across the ridge and impaled his quarry while Rezar crushed the head of his own.

Despite its grievous wound, the black-armored half-ogre attempted to stand, gripping its sword with determination, but the effort was cut short when Rezar shoved the monster off the cliff. Selinde watched as the half-ogre tumbled down the precipitous rockface, and was relieved when the corpse came to rest on a jut of rock some distance above the pass. The orcs below remained unaware of what transpired.

Selinde examined the cliff face that lay beneath the ridge. The rocks that had built up to form the rockface did appear to have loosened over the years, and they were large rocks too. Tibor had brought them to the right place. Looking down at the orcs marching through the pass, and estimating the length of the ridge, Selinde could only guess at how much damage they could do to the orcs.

"Now, how are we going to bring the rockfall down on the orcs?" asked Rezar.

"With these," said Selinde, producing an exploding potion from within her cloak. Before leaving Hreispell, an alchemist of Aeterveris had rendered to Selinde a number of such potions, thinking that they may prove helpful. And so they would.

* * *

Orcs struggled to get past the palisades and, harried by arrows, bolts, fireballs, lightning and the hedge of Dwarven spears waiting on the other side of the palisades, died by the droves. Ciara impaled an orc that made it to the edge of the palisades and quickly withdrew her spear, watching as the orc tumbled down. Altogether, Ciara and the dwarves standing with her had only been given a handful of opportunities to engage the orcs, and the few orcs who made it past the palisades were already fatigued. 

Behind the press of orcs stood the massive frost giant. As tall as a tower, the giant wielded a hammer worthy of its size and chilled the air about it.

A sudden clamor demanded Ciara's attention and she turned to see a troll tearing through the palisade wall on her left. A tall and lanky creature, but with monstrous strength, the troll broke and heaved away the palisade spikes, clearing a path for the orcs behind it. Bolts and arrows either glanced off the troll or failed to injure it as the monster rapidly made its way through the battlements.

"Well don't just stare," a dwarven sergeant shouted at Ciara, "get down there! They're going to need your help." The sergeant pointed at two dwarves. "You two, go with her."

Wasting no time, Ciara made her way to the section of the palisade where the troll would break through. A half-dozen dwarves were standing by with ready spears at the same place. With a surge of boundless aggression, the troll tore through the final palisade spikes and the dwarves, taken aback by the monster's speed, faltered. The troll did not allow their hesitation to go unnoticed. With a mighty swing of its right arm, the troll flung back a number of the dwarves.

Breaking away from the line, one of the dwarves thrust his spear into the troll's chest. The monster bellowed, though more from anger than pain, and smote the dwarf with the downstroke of one of its savagely clawed hands. Several dwarves stepped forward and made tentative jabs to ward away the troll while others pulled their comrade to safety.

Steeling herself, Ciara charged at the troll and thrust her spear into the monster's leg. The troll faced Ciara with a vicious snarl, and struck out with its claws.

After a moment of blackness Ciara realized she was on her back and the rancid stench alone could have told her that the troll was looming over her. Her spear lost, Ciara unsheathed her sword in an arc cutting across the troll's belly. As the monster recoiled, Ciara could see the wound sealing itself.

Before the young warrior could stand, the troll set upon her. And, when the beasts claws were mere inches away from Ciara's face, instinct set in.

_Stop._

Though it did not stop, the monster did slow. Where before Ciara had imagined the struggle as breaking down the gates to her enemy's consciousness, there were no gates here, only mindless aggression, enough hatred to set an entire forest ablaze.

Sparing only enough concentration for a glance, Ciara saw the path the troll had cleared through the palisades, and the orcs who were now using the cleared passage.

_Look._

Faltering, the troll looked back in the direction it had come from.

_Destroy._

The beast needed no more encouragement, tearing away from Ciara and the dwarves, the troll charged back down the path it had carved out, and wrought havoc among the orcs who had sought to use it as a battering ram. Ciara tried to stand, but collapsed onto her back, suddenly nauseous.

_You came to us again._ In her minds eye, Ciara saw them, the field of corpses. Still fighting the nausea, Ciara attempted to ward off the image as well. A dwarf extended his hand, his lips were moving but Ciara couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Ciara seized the hand and the dwarf pulled her up to her feet as the haze faded.

* * *

Hrungnir watched with disdain as one of his pet trolls turned on the orcs it was supposed to serve as cover for. 

"Wretches!" the giant shouted, "all of you! You," Hrungnir addressed one of his messengers. The orc groveled, knowing the giant had already killed half a dozen messengers during the battle, "go up the pass and tell Asgrim I want his Blackguards down here, now!"

The messenger trembled, Asgrim was the captain of Lord Hadeon's elite half-ogre Blackguards, and he rarely acted without orders from Hadeon himself, not wanting to waste his Blackguards on jobs best left for orcish thralls.

"Move!" the giant bellowed, and the messenger ran. Hrungnir stomped the ground in frustration, knocking down several nearby orcs with the shake. He recalled all too well his recent conversation with Hadeon.

"_My lord, when have I failed to serve?"_

"_You failed me at Noatun. You failed to take Aeterveris without phenomenal casualties."_

"_They were elves, they would not stand their ground and fight–"_

"_And when your enemy fights differently than you, should you always use the same strategies? Against fewer than a thousand elves, you lost three times that number and killed no more than a quarter of them."_

"_My lord–"_

"_You have one more chance, Hrungnir."_

"_But, you need me. Without me, the frost giants will–"_

"_I needed you before, but now your clan owes its allegiance to _me_. Without me, you never would have become jarl. I made you, not the other way around."_

The wasted human's arrogance had been infuriating. Worse, Hadeon had seen fit to disclose this in front of Asgrim, who had gloated during Hrungnir's humbling. The Battle Lord had certainly told his Blackguards, and from there the news must have come to Hrungnir's own thralls. Still, Hrungnir knew not to challenge Hadeon. Although he inhabited a human's body, and a pathetic one at that, Hadeon's power had grown far beyond that which any mortal should be able to wield.

So far, the battle was going better than the Battle of Aeterveris, but Hrungnir knew that didn't mean much. His own forces had taken the bridge with losses staggeringly greater than those suffered by the dwarves. Worse, they had been routed at the pass and would have lost that fight as well if it weren't for the intervention of Asgrim's Blackguards. Hrungnir realized that his tactical contributions to the battle were few, and was aware that would not sit well with Hadeon.

Only two options existed, win the fight, or die.

"Release more trolls to smash the palisades," Hrungnir ordered one of his orcish commanders.

* * *

With the path the troll had carved out secure, for the moment, Ciara looked past the palisades and to the sea of orcs. Standing conspicuously among them was the frost giant, a being larger than anything Ciara had imagined could exist. While the giant certainly seemed to be leading the battle, Ciara was all but certain that there was something else pulling the giant's strings. That "dark thing" she had felt at Aeterveris. Beyond the giant, beyond the orcs, beyond threshold of sight, Ciara knew that controlling presence was there, watching.

* * *

Knuckles white, Selinde clung to an outcropping of rock on the cliff face of the pass while searching with her right foot for a toe-hold. She found it, put some weight on it to see if it would hold, reached out with her right hand to seize another cleft, switched the toe-hold from her right to left foot and brought her left hand to the same cleft the right hand occupied, searched for another spot to put her right foot, found an outcropping, tested it, put her weight on it. 

An abrupt snap and Selinde found her right foot without support. With only a moment to think, Selinde raised her right knee and let it strike the rockface. The elven woman winced in pain, but was content that the explosive potion on her belt, which would have struck the cliff if her knee had not, remained intact.

After cursing herself for her lack of patience, Selinde looked down and watched the broken outcropping fall down to the pass. The orcs didn't pay the pebbles any heed, intent as they were on the march. _Any curious orc who looked up would likely face his taskmaster's whip,_ thought Selinde as she resumed traversing the cliff face.

Several arduous minutes later, Selinde arrived at the deep cleft in the rockface Tibor had described to her. Clinging doubly tight with her left hand, Selinde took the explosive potion from her belt and wedged it securely into the crevasse. With that done, Selinde carefully made her way back up the rockface. At length, she finally reached the cliff and the two Uthgardt helped her back onto the ridge.

"Is that the last one?" asked Rezar.

Selinde sat heavily on the rocky surface of the ridge, pulled up the right leg of her trousers to see her knee, it was bruised from striking the rockface, and still throbbed.

"There is one more," she said, retrieving the last potion from the satchel she had left on the ridge. "This one has to go on top, the rockfall caused by this potion will set off all the others."

Selinde started to stand, but Tibor stopped her, took the potion from her hand. "I'll do it," he said, "you have done enough, Selinde. I know where it has to go."

Selinde nodded, "Before putting the potion in the crevasse you have to remove the cork. Once you do that, we will have ten minutes before it explodes."

* * *

Palisade spikes splintered and snapped as trolls tore through them. Ciara watched as fireballs descended from the towers of Settlestone in an effort to slow or kill the trolls. 

"Breach!" yelled a dwarf, and Ciara ran with a number of other dwarfs to the source of the cry. As they arrived the troll smote one dwarf and another warrior, bearing a pole-mounted war hammer, swung his weapon at the monster with enough force to displace its knee. Staggering and clearly in pain, at least for the moment, the troll swung feebly at the nearby dwarves.

"Get it on the ground!" shouted the dwarf with the hammer. Of the three dwarves who took the charge, two were swept aside by the troll's flailing arms, the third held his spear high and struck the monster in the chest with enough force to bring it down. But his armor and flesh were rent when the troll struck out.

Running past the maimed warrior, Ciara avoided the troll's wild attacks and drove her spear through the troll's arm and into the ground. Although the troll attempted to break free, Ciara planted her boot on the monster's arm. Other dwarves mirrored Ciara's action, effectively penning all of the troll's limbs, but the beast resisted vehemently, and there was no guarantee it wouldn't break free.

"Archer!" shouted the dwarf with the hammer, "get over here!"

The archer, an Uthgardt, arrived quickly, with a fire arrow nocked. Using the spike at the bottom of his hammer, the dwarf pried open the mouth of the troll and the archer promptly released his arrow into the gullet. The troll cried a bestial roar and all of its limbs tensed, then fell.

With relief, Ciara withdrew her spear. Then turned to see a press of dwarves holding back the orcs attempting to advance through the path the troll had created. When she started in that direction a hand clapped on her shoulder. Spinning around, Ciara saw the dwarf who held the pole-hammer, and now noticed that his armor was gilded to a greater degree than any of the other dwarves present. _He must be an officer._

"The others can take care of the orcs," he said, and turned back to the others who had helped kill the troll, "I am Sverrir and, since all of you know how to kill trolls, we will intercept and slay any beasts that manage to break through our palisades–"

A deep rumbling shook the ground, cutting Sverrir short.

* * *

In the pass, the first potion exploded, heaving tons of rock downward on top of shocked orcs. As the stones tumbled they crashed onto the potions placed at lower points on the rockface, whose explosions heaved more rock onto the pass and destroyed the foundations of still more ridges, adding to the damage. As the cataclysm unfolded orcs ran to evade the avalanche, but found no safe haven. 

The slope of the pass caused much of the avalanche to continue downhill with devastating results. Emboldened by the rockfall at the pass, the Uthgardt and dwarven defenders of Settlestone fought with renewed vigor.

* * *

None of this was lost on Hrungnir, who stood staring at the pass, watching the cloud of dust settle. While the giant saw a few orcs emerge from the cloud, he was well aware that the great majority of the orcs who had been descending the pass, perhaps a thousand or more in number, were now buried beneath tons of rock. And thousands more would be unable to join the battle. 

The orcs at the giant's feet were silent, fearing his ire.

_Reinforcements from the pass are no longer possible, _Hrungnir realized,_ The only thing left to do is throw everything at Settlestone._ _Hadeon assured me that the Bhaalspawn is here, though he would not tell me who this Bhaalspawn was or even what he looks like._

"Vukasin," Hrungnir addressed his leading officer. The orc noiselessly came in front of Hrungnir and kneeled, his face nearly touching the dirt. _Perhaps he fears I will kill him? Before the end of this battle, that may come to pass._ "Send orders to the rear. I want all reserves brought here, every orc and beast, even the Ettins."

"At once, jarl," said the orc, and he began to rise.

"One more matter," Hrungnir resumed, and Vukasin stayed down, "You told me that we had taken prisoners at the bridge, no?"

"We did."

"Bring them here."

* * *

Blindfolded and with his hands bound, Kyner was pushed and goaded by sneering orcs along a narrow path. At length, a pair of orcs clapped hands on the warrior's shoulders and forced him down to his knees. A moment later, the blindfold was ripped off. 

At eye level, Kyner saw an iron boot the size of a wagon, and looked up to see the giant whose foot it shod. Standing beneath the giant, Kyner could truly appreciate its size.

_Is this the Bhaalspawn giant Mahtan hinted at?_ Kyner wondered. When he heard the muttered curses of a dwarf Kyner turned to see Dieter, one of the priests of Clanggedin he had fought beside on the bridge.

"These are the only two?" the giant asked.

"Yes, Jarl Hrungnir," replied an orc, whose armor seemed less shoddy than that of the other orcs Kyner had seen thus far.

"I hope," the giant began, staring down at his captives, "that at least one of you has information that can be of use to me. If not, you'll have to serve as feed for the trolls, something to wet their appetites for more blood."

There was a long pause, and the giant was obviously short of patience.

"Nothing to say?" he asked.

Kyner's heart quickened. For the first time in his recollection, he felt a genuine fear of death. In other battles and campaigns he had thrown himself into battle, always more concerned for the lives of his comrades than his own. But having something to lose changed everything. _Ciara has changed everything_.

"Worms. Feed them to the trolls."

_I've already taught her everything I can about blades. But she still has much to learn about the world._

"Wait!"

Kyner immediately faced Dieter, sweat beaded on the dwarven priest's brow and he was breathing heavily. "I know of a way ye can emerge from the deeps of Mithral Hall itself. All of the dwarves are defending Settlestone. You can ravage Mithral Hall and then close in on Settlestone from two fronts."

Kyner's mouth fell open.

"Tell me more," said Hrungnir, interested. _Maybe I can still salvage this battle, _the giant thought.

"Beneath Mithral Hall are the ancient catacombs of my people. There is a tunnel leading to those tombs which lies not far from here. I can show you, but there are wards blocking the way which can only be unsealed by a priest of Clanggedin."

"Vukasin," Hrungnir addressed the least shoddily armored orc, "Take a contingent of orcs and have this dwarf show you the way to the catacombs. Take as many as you see fit," Hrungnir prepared to move off, then added, "and take the human as well. If the dwarf refuses to cooperate, start cutting pieces off the human, and make sure the dwarf watches."

* * *

With all of its limbs pinned to the ground, the troll could do nothing but shake and make gutteral screeching noises of fear and anger. After swallowing a fire arrow, it wasn't even able to do that. Withdrawing her spear, Ciara noticed Sverrir staring at something beyond the palisades. When Ciara followed the dwarf's gaze, she began to wish she hadn't. 

Perhaps a dozen figures were crossing the field. While not so large as the frost giant, each of the club-wielding monstrosities was at least two storeys tall and had two heads. _Ettins._

* * *

Dieter led the company of orcs as they delved into the tunnel which, the dwarf claimed, led to the catacombs. A burly orc walked beside Dieter, and the two were connected by the chain of their iron wrist-cuffs. Slightly behind Dieter was Vukasin, the orcish leader, and Kyner stood a short distance behind Vukasin and, much like Dieter, was bound to an orc via wrist-cuffs. A press of orcs followed. 

Although Kyner knew there were taskmasters among these orcs, he did not hear them cracking their whips. Evidently there was not a need. _Likely because the rabble don't feel like they're being used as fodder, yet_.

Dieter had initially led Vukasin to a rockface not far from the pass, and revealed the hidden entrance by chanting an incantation, proving that the orcs would likely need his expertise more. The corridor they now walked through was dim, illuminated only by the torches the orcs held. But the torchlight did manage to reveal the fine workmanship of the stone hall, on which age had not taken its toll.

Kyner was silent, intently watching Dieter. _The priest fought stalwartly on the bridge_, Kyner remembered, doubting that Dieter would betray Mithral Hall so readily. _He likely has some deception planned. _So Kyner watched, and stayed alert.

At length the corridor opened up into a grand chamber, lit by braziers that burned with purple flame. In rows, from wall to wall, were pedestals on which stood statues of dwarven warriors. At the far end of the chamber was a set of great doors. Kyner heard the orcs behind him shifting uneasily.

Dieter walked toward the doors at the end of the chamber, stopped.

"Why you stop?" asked Vukasin, his tone demanding an immediate answer.

"There is an incantation to open these doors," said Dieter, talking over his shoulder to the orcish leader, "but it can only be spoken by the leader of the retinue passing through."

Kyner tensed, _If there will be a chance to escape it is now_.

"What I say?" asked Vukasin, moving forward to stand beside Dieter.

"_Tivar, ykka vanta knottrs,"_ said Dieter, "It is necessary to say this in order to show respect for the spirits that guard the catacombs.

The orc nodded, and inhaled deeply before exclaiming the words, "_Tivar, ykka vanta knottrs!"_

Vukasin didn't have time to take another breath before the dwarven statue behind him clove his head with a stone axe. Soon thereafter, the orcs were crying out as all of the statues came to life and wrought havoc among their ranks.

Kyner saw one of the stone figures charging and pulled on the chain of his wrist-cuff, placing his captor's arm in the path of the descending sword. Thus freed, Kyner darted past the stone warrior and toward the door, in front of which Dieter stood. The dwarf held Vukasin's sword, and seemed to have freed himself of his burdensome captor in the same manner Kyner had.

"_Lida ykkar vinr,"_ the dwarf intoned. This time the grand doors opened and Dieter hurried to the other side, followed by Kyner. _"Kaer!"_ said the dwarf once he had passed through the door.

Turning around, Kyner caught a glimpse of the massacre unfolding on the other side before the massive stone doors shut.

Dieter laughed at his good fortune and clapped Kyner on the shoulder, "I'm glad ye made it," he said, "because no one will believe this story without a witness."

Kyner leaned against the door, tried to catch his breath.

"Is there a fast way to Settlestone from here?" he asked.

"That eager to rejoin the fray?"

"My daughter is up there," said Kyner. _Now I can see that you have far more sway over her than her own father can ever hope for,_ Mahtan's words echoed in Kyner's head.

"Aye, that's plenty of reason. I have two sons and a nephew at Settlestone, though they certainly aren't green."

"Is there a way?" Kyner asked insistently.

"No," Dieter shook his head, "this path only leads to Mithral Hall. There is no shortcut."

"Then we need to start moving," said Kyner.

* * *

While the trolls cut swaths through the palisades, the ettins crushed the defenses merely by walking over them. The ettins demolished the dwarven lines, and a flood of orcs came in their wake. Ciara followed Sverrir and the current of dwarves into the Ruin, the collection of monolithic buildings. This, Ciara knew, is what Kyner had feared, an urban battle. 

"Halt!" Sverrir shouted.

In spite of their fear, the dwarves who heard obeyed, faced Sverrir.

"On my mark, I want every spear thrown!"

Earthshaking footsteps warned of an ettin's approach. Moments later the two-headed giant came around the bend in the street and lumbered toward the cluster of dwarves, brandishing its clubs. Ciara hefted her spear, took a deep breath.

"Wait!" Sverrir ordered. The ettin came closer and raised its club high. It was close enough to smell, an odor so noxious Ciara would have gagged had she the luxury.

"Now!"

The spears flew, and struck the ettin, most of them stuck, and steady streams of blood flowed from the wounds. Wavering, the ettin dropped its club before collapsing entirely. It was the first ettin Ciara had seen fall.

There was no time to celebrate before orcs began charging over the ettin's carcass.

"Hells!" cursed Sverrir. Although he still possessed his pole-hammer, the other dwarves began reaching for their sidearms. Ciara drew Aitana.

"The streets are narrow," said a dwarf, "we can slay them!"

Sverrir considered his options before bellowing his war cry: "Death to the horde!"

As the dwarves charged, a fireball descended from one of the towers and, exploding in the orcish ranks, scattered the orcs and robbed them of their courage, allowing the dwarves to hew them apart.

Sverrir was calling out new instructions as the last orc fell, "Pick up what spears these orcs have, but nothing too heavy to be thrown. These will have to do until we can get to the armory and get some pikes. Then, we'll bring the ettins to their knees."

* * *

Whether motivated by ardor or fear, Sverrir led his retinue among the monolithic buildings at a reckless pace, determined to get to the pikes. The company crushed several orcish war parties before coming across a company of orcs rivaling its own size. 

Both sides yelled battle cries as they collided in a crash of blades and shields. Ciara wielded her sword with deadly grace, easily cutting through the ragged leather armor the orcs were clad in. Though numerous orcs had been cut down, they still outnumbered the dwarfs.

A hand on Ciara's shoulder pulled her back from the conflict. Whirling about, Ciara found herself facing Sverrir, the dwarf's armor was spattered with blood and the head of his hammer covered in it.

"Ciara," the dwarf shouted, "I need you to take a dozen warriors around the intersection and flank them! GO!"

The dwarves who had managed to hear Sverrir were quick to respond when Ciara told them to follow her, and soon she had her dozen. In the brief time it took to circumvent the enemy, Ciara wondered why Sverrir had told her to lead the maneuver.

Ciara and the dwarves following her were quickly back on the main road and had the enemy's back.. The orcs were all but leaping over each other in their impatience to get to the conflict. There was no need for discretion.

Ciara charged the unaware orcs and ran through the nearest one. The next closest orc was only turning around when the young warrior hacked off its head. The dwarves accompanying Ciara had no less success. Whether by axe, spear, hammer or sword, nearly twenty orcs lay dead before they began putting up an effective resistance. But, realizing they were surrounded, the orcs fought with twice the ferocity.

Bashed by an orc's shield, Ciara stumbled backwards and was spared the deathblow when a dwarf hacked off the arm of the orc that would have killed her. Having staggered away from the conflict, Ciara noticed, with dread, the earthshaking footsteps.

Turning around, she saw a pair of ettins, each of which held a club studded with iron spikes. The four heads were an unwelcome sight. Ciara blinked, and behind her eyelids saw the field of corpses.

_You need us again._ The thousand voices, discordant and droll.

Ciara stared at the ettins. They were too close. Running wasn't an option. The monsters could easily smash her, Sverrir, and every other dwarf. But she felt revulsion at the prospect of returning to her _instinct_, recalling acutely the pain she had felt after manipulating the troll.

_It is the only way. What else can you do, throw your sword at it?_

Ciara willed herself to not blink, so as not to see the field of death.

Step by step, the ettins lumbered closer. The nearer of the two raised its club.

"There is no other way," Ciara murmured. And gazed balefully into the eyes of the beast.

_Halt,_ Ciara ordered, her voice joined by a thousand others.

The ettin with the raised clumb stopped, both heads looked about dumbly.

Ciara strained, bile rose up in her throat. The other ettin pushed the one in front of it, urging it to keep moving.

_You know your enemy._ Ciara trembled from the effort, was distantly aware that her hands were trembling and that she had dropped her sword.

Angrily, the ettin in front turned around. It sputtered accusations in a language Ciara couldn't understand and brandished its club. The further back of the two-headed beasts, agitated, shoved the other's shoulder.

_He will destroy you if you turn your back._ The closer ettin roared and, in a fury, struck its suspected enemy with its club. The injured ettin staggered back but struck its aggressor with a fist the size of a table. Ciara felt her concentration snap and a blinding white pain seized her.

Collapsing to her knees, Ciara pitched forward, felt as if she might vomit. The woman strained to raise her head. And saw that one of the ettins had knocked the other onto the ground and was beating it mercilessly with its club. Everything was painfully bright. Ciara closed her eyes to see the field, stretching to the horizon. Bodies, piled so high in places that they could be mistaken for hills, rivulets of blood flowing among them.

Ciara vomited and fell onto her side. _Kyner . . . where are you?_ The brightness was searing. But Ciara refused to close her eyes. All of her limbs felt numb.

* * *

Kyner was certain that his heart had never beat so quickly as it did when he finally emerged from Mithral Hall. As Dieter had promised, the catacombs provided a safe, if not expedient, path back to the conflict, although the guards within the Hall had been justifiably surprised when the two emerged. 

The old warrior rushed past dwarven soldiers to the edge of the cliff overlooking Settlestone. The scene beneath him was one of chaos. Although Kyner's eyes did not have the strength they once did, he could see the frenzied movements in the streets below and hear the ring of steel. The long stair leading down to Settlestone was filled with the wounded being carried up to Mithral Hall on the left and soldiers going down on the right.

Looking about frantically, Kyner saw a number of dwarves in gilded armor. All of them appeared to be listening to a dwarf wearing even more ornate armor with a beard of considerable length. Kyner recognized King Gandalug, who had given him charge of the bridge's defense. Kyner quickly made his way to the king as the other officers seemed to be disbanding. The king faced the old warrior as he approached, his face betrayed his surprise.

"Kyner Valentin, right? I'm glad to see you're alive. How did–"

"I am sorry to interrupt, my lord," said Kyner, "But do you know where my daughter is?"

The king's countenance turned to one of irritation, "I have a hard enough time keeping track of entire companies, let alone one person. I am sorry but I do not know."

"Of course," Kyner said, shaking his head. _I doubt anyone up here knows._ "How can I help?"

The king smiled grimly, though the beard largely obscured it, "We can certainly use the help of anyone who can wield a sword. I'll give you the short version. We are holding our own but are still grievously outnumbered. We've managed to kill most of their ettins but then the frost giant himself came into the city. Wherever he strikes, our defenses crumble. Our pikes have proven powerless to pierce his armor. I fear for the outcome of this battle."

_I need to find Ciara, that is all that matters now,_ thought Kyner.

"Then I will descend to the bottom and help as I can. But I need arms."

The king seemed to be about to ask what happened to Kyner's weapons but thought better of it. He certainly had more pressing issues to deal with.

"You can find arms over there. Good dwarven steel. General Lovrenc is at the base of the stair, he can tell you where you're needed. Clanggedin, be with you." Gandalug clapped Kyner on the shoulder and disappeared into the mass of dwarves and men.

Kyner hastened to the makeshift armory that had been set up on the plateau, constantly scanning for Ciara. The warrior snatched a battleaxe from one of the weapon stands. Although the balance was a bit off, Kyner had used worse, and was in too much of a hurry for close inspection.

The stair was wide but crowded nonetheless. Carved from the cliffs ascending to Mithral Hall, it was an impressive feat. Kyner recklessly hurried past soldiers going down to the battle but, when he glanced to the wounded going up to safety, saw Ciara, though he barely recognized her at first.

The girl's armor was splattered with blood, as was her hair that hung from beneath her helmet. A dwarf in gilded and similarly gored armor was carrying her up the stair.

Rushing over, Kyner took his daughter from the dwarf's arms.

"Who are you?" the dwarf demanded.

Kyner knelt down to the ground, holding Ciara, oblivious to complaints that he was obstructing the stairway. Her skin was ashen and sweat beaded on her brow, her eyes were wide open but not fixed on anything.

"What happened to her?" asked Kyner.

"Damned if I know," replied the dwarf, "one of my warriors told me she fell after two ettins started attacking each other."

"That's all?" Kyner looked for some sign of a wound or a poisoned arrow or dart, though he had yet to see an orc using any such weapon in this battle.

"Yes," the dwarf responded impatiently.

"I have to get her to the healers," said Kyner, standing and moving up the stairs as quickly as he could.

"He's here," Ciara said, her voice strained.

Surprised, Kyner looked down to see Ciara looking directly at him. Her eyes were clear now.

"The bhaalspawn?" Kyner asked quietly.

"No," she said, "the giant. You have to take me to him."

Kyner scowled, "What?"

"I can kill it," said Ciara.

"How?"

"Just get me close enough for me to see it," she said. Weak as she was, Ciara's eyes were now undeniably focused, her countenance utterly certain.

_She knows what she is saying,_ Kyner decided,_ she is not delusional._

Kyner turned around, faced the dwarf in the gilded armor, "Do you know where the giant is?"

"You can't be serious."

"Do you know?" Kyner demanded, his voice rising.

* * *

Kyner, carrying Ciara in his arms, was running behind Sverrir and a mixed company of dwarves and Uthgardt as they followed the wake of destruction left behind by the frost giant and his war hammer: crushed barricades and the bodies of dwarves, men, and orcs. Kyner didn't know what Ciara had in mind, but he had convinced Sverrir to go along with it and then the dwarf had convinced General Lovrenc to give him forty warriors. 

But, turning at a corner, the company ran into orcs before they did the giant. Kyner set Ciara down and unbelted the war axe he had taken earlier. The warrior carefully watched the battle between Sverrir's company and the orcs, intent on not letting any of the orcs near Ciara.

Kyner heard a dull thud, and another, and another, louder each time. With a groan, Kyner turned around to the frost giant at the end of the street, confidently approaching and brandishing a hammer that complemented its size. Then he saw that Ciara was standing, resolutely facing the giant.

As Kyner walked forward to stand beside Ciara she held out her hand, stopping him. The giant drew closer, orange light from the setting sun reflected angrily from the giant's armor while frost billowed from its maw, a cloud of mist.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind, Kyner looked over his shoulder to see that Sverrir's company had finished off the orcs and were coming over.

"You really don't know what she is going to do?" Sverrir asked.

"I wish I did," Kyner admitted.

Still the giant came closer, his footsteps making the earth tremble. Several of the dwarves and Uthgardt hefted spears, those who had bows nocked arrows.

Ciara held out her hands, raised her head, a green glow began to encompass her hands and Kyner gasped. _What is this? _What was stranger, Kyner could not hear her uttering any words that, so far as he knew, always accompanied spell casting.

A tear seemed to form in the space in front of Ciara, and from it, a sheathed sword emerged. Seemingly of its own accord, the weapon unsheathed itself and the scabbard disintegrated as it fell away. The sword's blade was blacker than night, and pulsated with some unnatural energy. Kyner heard several of the dwarves and Uthgardt backing away.

The giant continued to come forward, unaware of what was occurring in front of him.

The sword flattened, it's blade turning toward the giant. And, like a missile, the sword flew.

Hrungnir had no time to react when he saw the sword approaching. The weapon perforated the giant's helmet, tore through his skull and brains before erupting out the back of the helmet and dissolving.

For a moment, the giant wavered, before toppling over and meeting the ground with an earthshaking crash.

At the same time, the glow faded from Ciara's hands and her arms dropped down to her sides. Seeing her waver, Kyner hurried to Ciara's side and caught her before she fell. As her head lolled back, Kyner saw that Ciara's eyes were shut and her skin was still pale. She breathed shallowly.


	28. Dreams and Portents

_Dreams and Portents_

The sun had long since set, but Kyner remained sleepless. He sat beside Ciara, who lay in a modestly-sized bed, swathed in blankets. A candle burned on the night stand, illuminating her pale face while she slept, as she had since felling the giant.

_And how did she do that? _Kyner wondered. He feared that it had something to do with her birth father. Kyner had brought the unconscious girl to the healers, but they found nothing to heal. The dwarves had allowed Kyner to take her to a room in one of the towers of Settlestone. Space was hardly at a premium here, there were far more rooms in Settlestone than there were people to occupy them. The accommodations were sparse, but more than acceptable. _At least it's clean, more than I can say of some places I have stayed._

Kyner's gaze strayed to the far corner of the room, where he had placed his and Ciara's armors. The dwarves said they would allow Ciara to keep the suit as a gift for slaying Hrungnir, although they made no secret that they were wary of the means she had used to do so.

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," said Kyner.

The door opened and a cloaked figure stepped through. A flicker of the candlelight allowed Kyner to see beneath the figure's hood.

Kyner came to his feet, "It is good to see you again, Selinde." After Kyner crossed the short distance, he embraced the elven woman.

Selinde drew back, removed a sword and baldric from her back, "A dwarf named Kovar wanted me to make sure you got this," she said, and handed the great sword to Kyner. "He said he found it near the bridge while he was clearing out the remaining orcs after the battle."

Kyner partially unsheathed the sword, it was Issgar, "It is good to know he is still alive. I will have to thank him before we leave."

"How is she?" asked Selinde, peering over Kyner's shoulder to Ciara.

"I don't know," Kyner admitted, turning around to look at Ciara, "the healers say there is nothing wrong with her." Kyner paused. "Did you hear about what happened?"

Selinde nodded.

There was silence for a moment. Kyner spoke, "I'm forgetting my manners, please sit down." Kyner insisted that Selinde sit in the room's only chair and sat down on the edge of the bed himself.

"I understand that you are the one who brought the walls of the pass down on the orcs," said Kyner.

Selinde nodded, half-smiled.

"That may have been the deciding factor of the battle," said Kyner.

"It was an action with mixed consequences," said Selinde, "right now, the people here are happy. But destroying the pass will make trade with the far north difficult."

"You underestimate dwarven engineering," said Kyner, "they'll find a way to get the pass functioning again, I guarantee it. You did well today, Selinde. No one could have asked you for anything more. Your father would be proud."

Selinde nodded, smiled wanly. "You should get some rest," she advised.

"I couldn't sleep if I wanted to," Kyner replied, looking back to Ciara, "she's been terribly still but at least she's breathing evenly now."

* * *

Ciara found herself in a crowd, pressed on all sides. About her moved all kinds of people: humans, elves, half-elves, dwarves, gnomes and even half-orcs. They moved ceaselessly, and Ciara was caught in the ebb and flow of their movements.

_All of them seem oblivious to one anther, _Ciara realized,_ and to me._

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Ciara thought she saw one make eye contact with her. But when she turned saw nothing, only the bustle of people. Then the distinct sound of metal cutting flesh demanded Ciara's attention and she spun around to see a human male fall to the ground, his throat split from one side to the other.

Ciara backed away, scanning all of those around her, looking for a weapon. Despite the murder, no one seemed phased. Ciara thought she saw a flicker of light off a blade and then another fell dead, this time a female dwarf. Then another, and another. Ciara drew her sword.

The crowd was rapidly thinning and soon Ciara saw dark shapes moving among the people, flickering knives in their hands. Seeing one of the shapes, Ciara seized its shoulder and the shade whirled about to face her. The apparition was faceless, save for its keen yellow eyes. Ciara felt those eyes boring into her soul.

* * *

Ciara stood among innumerable bodies. Not the field of corpses that appeared to her before, but the bodies of the people in the crowd she had seen only moments ago. Standing in a circle, that Ciara was a part of, were eleven others.

A gnome, with oiled hair and an immaculately trimmed goatee clad in fine silks.

A male half-orc with green skin who wore bulky plate mail.

A man, dark skinned and clad in orange and blue robes.

A younger man, with light brown hair clad in plate mail with a hammer hanging from his belt.

A young, eager-looking woman clad in elven chain mail with chestnut hair.

A drow female, arrogant and proud, clad in elaborate chain mail.

A woman with raven-black hair clad in dark leathers.

A giant, nearly as tall as the one at the Battle of Mithral hall.

Another half-orc, blue skinned with a great sword across his back.

A tall figure with glowing yellow eyes, its armor adorned with spikes and blades.

A cloaked man, his bony face barely visible beneath his cowl.

With a terrible snapping noise, the spines of the bodies in the middle of the circle tore out from their resident corpses. Ciara cringed as she watched the spines twist around one another and form a chair.

_The Throne of Bhaal, and these must be other children of Bhaal,_ thought Ciara, looking at the others who stood about the gruesome throne.

Ciara looked again at those standing in the circle. Finally her gaze came to rest on the cloaked man. There was something different about him. With a gasp, Ciara recognized him. Not the man but his presence. That same presence she had felt in the distance during the battle.

At Ciara's moment of realization, the cloaked man looked straight at her and, pulling a spear from across his back, stalked toward her. Ciara drew her sword and stood ready. As the man strode forward she could make out his pale skin, tautly stretched across his face beneath the cowl. His hands were almost skeletal, and the shaft of the spear they held was covered with sharp thorns; blood steadily dripped from his hands.

The man lunged forward, swinging the broad head of his spear toward Ciara. The young warrior parried the attack, and found herself staring into the eyes of her adversary, they were cold and empty.

* * *

Ciara woke with a start and Kyner was immediately by her side. She breathed in rapid, panicked breaths as Kyner held her, reassuring her with quiet words. Even if Ciara was too busy trying to get her bearings to understand what her guardian was saying, his voice calmed her.

"What happened?" Ciara asked, "I was standing in the street–"

"The battle's over," said Kyner, "the orcish officers were unable to keep control of their thralls once you killed Hrungnir." Then Ciara remembered, the sword that she had conjured with the aid of the thousand voices, who she could only assume were the personification of Bhaal's essence within her. After that she could only recall the memory of pain, and then nothing. "Right now we're in an apartment in Settlestone."

Ciara nodded, and seemed to have caught her breath.

Kyner drew back, looked Ciara in the eye, "I have to know, Ciara, how did you kill the frost giant?"

Ciara fell back onto the bed. Looked out the only window in the room. The day looked to be well under way.

"I don't know exactly. But I know that Bhaal's taint was involved."

"I'm not going to lie to you," said the warrior, "that display frightened me. You've been unconscious for almost a whole day. Please, never do anything like that unless you absolutely have to."

"I won't," Ciara replied, "it's no more pleasant for me than it is you."

"That's not the first time you've done something like that?" asked Kyner.

"No. I've used the taint three other times. The first time was in Aeterveris, I was poisoned and one of the dominated elves was about to kill me. I used the taint to . . . to make him kill himself. All the other times were today. When a troll was about to kill me, I made it run back and attack the orcs who were behind it. And I made one ettin attack another."

Kyner's eyes grew wider with each telling, "And each time you used the taint you felt ill?"

Ciara nodded, "Either nauseous, tired or both."

The old warrior's brow was furrowed, the maze of lines appearing on his forehead as happened whenever he was worried, "I don't know what to say," Kyner admitted. "Would that Gorion were here, perhaps he could make sense of it. I do not feel comfortable asking a priest or wizard here, they are already suspicious of us." Kyner faced Ciara, his expression earnest, "Ciara, until we know more do _not_ try to cast any of those spells again."

"I only used them when I thought it was necessary," said Ciara, "in order to save my life and the lives of others."

Kyner nodded uneasily, "If the circumstances are grave, then perhaps it is right. Still, you must be able to restrain yourself." Kyner forced a smile, "Now, I do have some good news, for defeating Hrungnir, the people of Mithral are honoring you as a hero. King Gandalug is holding a feast in Mithral Hall, and he asked me to have you sit at his right hand, provided you were conscious."

A thought suddenly occurred to Ciara, "Selinde, is she–"

"Selinde is well," said Kyner, "and she is also among the heroes of the battle. As it turns out, she is among those responsible for bringing the pass down on the orcs. The banquet won't be until later tonight so, if you feel up to it, we can go to the mess hall and get something to eat now."

It only took the suggestion to make Ciara realize how famished she was and the young woman was quickly on her feet.


	29. Lengthening Shadows

**Those who were reading this story before the revisions (that's right, both of you) will probably recognize this chapter. Although there is something extra tacked on at the end, the chapter is largely the same.

* * *

**

_Lengthening Shadows_

The night was fitfully still. Bracketed torches provided only enough light to lengthen the shadows covering the interior of the building that had once housed the guards who ensured the Cloakwood mines remained secret. Those guards had fallen protecting that secret, and the mines themselves were now flooded, the only remaining sign of Saunder's passage.

Saunder and Ajantis were now alone on the second floor of the building, which had served as the barracks for the guards. Ajantis sat on the edge of a bed while Saunder paced back and forth.

"Saunder, what happened down there?"

"You saw it yourself."

"True, but that doesn't mean I _know_ what happened. You not only killed Davaeorn, you were hacking apart his carcass several swings after he was actually dead."

"I was angry."

"I know it was more than simple anger. Why did you see fit to eviscerate Davaeorn's corpse, Saunder?"

"Is this an interrogation?"

"Only if you make it one. You're hiding something from me, which bodes ill for your future as a paladin."

Saunder stopped his pacing and tried to slow his racing mind, tried to cool his restless blood. _Ajantis is not my enemy._

"I need some time to think this through," Saunder said.

Ajantis looked severely at Saunder, "I'll let you go for now, but that doesn't mean I'm through with this. My questions will be answered."

"They will," Saunder replied.

Ajantis nodded curtly, "Go."

Saunder opened the door and walked down the narrow staircase to the first floor. The others, Branwen, Kivan, and Imoen, sat around the table. They had been talking quietly but became silent as Saunder started down the stairs.

Saunder attempted a smile as he passed his companions on his way to the door and tried to ignore their stares. Imoen quickly stood to follow when she saw Saunder's direction.

Saunder halted on hearing the chair slide back, "You'd follow me anywhere wouldn't you?" he asked.

"Do you need to ask?" Imoen replied, her voice was light, but the mood failed to reach her eyes.

"Why?"

Imoen paused, "Do you think I have anywhere else to go?"

Saunder nodded at the simple statement. _I have a responsibility to keep her safe. After all she's followed me through, it's the least she deserves._

"I'm not going far," said Saunder, "please, stay here."

Imoen nodded reluctantly but continued to follow Saunder with her eyes as he left.

* * *

Saunder felt the cool night air wrap around him as he stepped outside and realized that winter was not far away Saunder walked away from the building that had been the guardhouse and over the narrow bridge that was the only entrance to the compound of the Cloakwood mines before passing into the wood beyond.

Saunder heard the distant howl of a wolf and his hand subconsciously came to rest on Ashideena's shaft.

Then Saunder saw the dim light in the distance, and made his way toward it. As Saunder walked, the trees of the wood began to warp, trunks and branches bent impossibly and curled menacingly toward the paladin, who continued to march deeper into the wood, until he came upon the familiar clearing and fire.

"So you've returned," said the blind god from where he sat around the fire.

"The light," Saunder said, looking into the distance, "it's closer now."

"So it is." Neither of the two spoke for a time, and Saunder saw the yellow eyes at the edge of the fire's light.

"You are ashamed of what you have done," Tyr observed, "that is reassuring. More reassuring is that you have decided to seek me out."

"Can you forgive me?" Saunder asked.

"I can," Tyr said, "But you must also forgive yourself. A warrior ridden by guilt will doom himself just as surely as one ruled by bloodlust. You cannot doubt yourself but you _must_ control yourself, else far worse could happen."

"How can I defend myself against such an enemy?"

"First, you must know what it is you face." Tyr stood and looked at the yellow eyes on the brink of the firelight. "One can hide behind sanctuaries but there comes a time when one must abandon such defenses that lead to laxity and stagnation."

Tyr stood and, with a glance, snuffed out the fire. Saunder backed away as the yellow eyes moved steadily toward himself and Tyr.

"There comes a time when the darkness must be faced."

When Saunder's eyes adjusted, he saw Tyr walking toward the creature with the yellow eyes, a massive thing covered in spines with great clawed fingers and jagged teeth.

The creature lunged forward, its claws ready to tear the one-handed God asunder. But Tyr grabbed the beast by its leading arm and, turning the creature's momentum against it, slammed the beast into the nearest tree. Before it could recover, Tyr snatched the its neck and threw it onto the ground.

Then Saunder was blinded as the fire roared back to life. When his vision returned, Saunder saw Tyr standing over the creature, which writhed under the god's boot but made no attempt to attack.

"You can come closer," Tyr said, "the beast knows not to challenge me now."

"What is it?" Saunder asked, slowly approaching.

"It is the taint within you. Here, in this place, it has taken the form of the Slayer, the avatar of Bhaal."

Saunder was silent._ Inseparable as blood and bone, the taint within me, avatar of Bhaal._

"The pieces should be falling into place for you."

"I am one of Bhaal's children?"

"You are. Rescued from ritual sacrifice by your step-father and his companions."

"And he is too isn't he? Gorion's murderer, the one with the yellow eyes?"

Tyr nodded, "For now, you must continue on the path you follow. Gorion's murderer must be dealt with. But tread carefully, the truth of your divinity is something best kept secret."

"What about my companions?"

"I will leave that to your discretion, but I advise caution. Before you leave I have one more piece of information to give you. The taint of Bhaal is a thing of evil but it can be twisted to serve the needs of good." The Slayer writhed and bellowed but abruptly stopped when Tyr poised his boot above the avatar's neck.

"You see," Tyr said, drawing back, "it can be reasonable if given the incentive." Tyr lowered his foot back to the ground. As soon as the god turned his back the Slayer fled back into the woods. Tyr saw the disbelieving expression in the young paladin's eyes. "The taint of Bhaal is a force and, like any other force, it can be bent and redirected. You must learn to do this or the taint _will_ tear you apart. I can limit the taint's strength to a point but it will grow in time."

"Can't I just not use the taint? Suppress it?"

"The taint is not some passive presence. It is an ember of Bhaal's being. You cannot exorcize the taint and you certainly cannot ignore it. Should you do so, he will subvert you in time. Above all, never submit."

In an instant, the fire and the blind god disappeared while the trees seemed to retook their former shapes.

Saunder glanced back to the cabin. _What will they think? Will they even believe me?

* * *

_

All eyes turned to Saunder when he opened the door. Imoen looked to have been reading over some of the scrolls they had taken from Davaeorn's library. Kivan and Branwen had been discussing something. Ajantis looked to have been staring at the door the entire time.

"Ajantis," said Saunder, stepping forward and closing the door behind him, "I have an explanation for you."

After taking a seat, Saunder explained everything. From the bandit he had cut down in anger at the camp to his recent revelation concerning his origins.

Reactions were mixed. Ajantis was clearly surprised, having received much more of an explanation than he had expected. Kivan remained stoic. Branwen had taken to examining her mace, matters of the divine apparently mattered little to her. Imoen seemed agitated, was biting at her nails.

"Perhaps your unique identity is why the armored man sought to have you killed, why you have been harried by so many bounty hunters," suggested Kivan.

"What makes you so sure the man who beset Gorion and Saunder is the same one who has been issuing the bounties?" asked Ajantis, "perhaps the bounty hunters were sent by the bandits after you killed Mulahey at the Nashkel mines."

"The first bounty hunter attacked Saunder before we ended Mulahey's operations at the Nashkel mines, and he was acting under orders from Tazok," said Kivan, who pointed to a number of scrolls on the table, "These are letters from Rieltar to Davaeorn which tell that an organization called the Iron Throne has executed an elaborate plot to undermine iron production and importation in this region. Tazok was acting under orders from this organization when he issued the bounties for Saunder's death, which have only become more severe each time he disrupts their operations."

"Then we have to find Rieltar," said Saunder.

"There is one other named in the letters. The bandits were put under the command of a man named Sarevok, Tazok is only his lieutenant."

"So Rieltar and Sarevok are the ones in charge?" clarified Imoen.

"That seems to be the case,"said Kivan.

_Then one of them must be the Bhaalspawn who killed Gorion_, thought Saunder. _It's good to finally have the names of the men at the top, rather than their lackeys and lieutenants._

"All of you seem to be ignoring something," said Ajantis, "you have not addressed what Saunder's heritage entails."

"And what more is there to say?" asked Branwen, making clear that she felt the discussion was a waste of time.

"He has lost control before," said Ajantis. His expression had become grim, "How do you know you will not lose it again? Perhaps the next time the Lord of Murder seizes control he will not let go so easily."

"Saunder is aware of what he faces now," said Kivan, "Do not be so quick to underestimate his strength."

"I will not force any of you to stay," said Saunder, "If you doubt me, Ajantis, you are free to leave."

"And let a child of Bhaal go unwatched? That would not be a wise course of action."

"I must say, I disapprove of your combative tone," said Kivan, rising from his chair. At the same time, Ajantis shot to his feet and soon everyone but Saunder was standing tensely, hands hovering close to weapons.

"All of you, sit down," Saunder said evenly. The ranger and paladin glared at one another for a long moment before taking their seats; the others relaxed. "If any of you have doubts, I would know now."

"You know I'll go wherever you do," said Imoen.

"We still have a great deal to accomplish before we part ways," said Kivan, "your heritage changes nothing."

Branwen shrugged, "You are a better warleader than many I have aided, I see no reason to leave."

Ajantis shifted uneasily, "Perhaps I am wrong to have my doubts," he said after a pause, "Child of Bhaal or no, you are the best hope to finding a remedy to the troubles that plague this region. Besides which, someone has to make sure you to keep your guard up."

"I thought that was Kivan's job," Imoen said. The comment brought a snicker, if not a smile, to the ranger's face.

"It's good to know you're still with us, Ajantis," said Saunder, "Now, Kivan, you were speaking of the letters you found in Davaeorn's quarters."

Kivan nodded, "They implicate Rieltar, a leader in the organization called the Iron Throne, of orchestrating the iron shortage."

"Any idea where we can find him?" asked Imoen.

"The Iron Throne is headquartered in Baldur's Gate," said Kivan.

"Then we leave now," said Saunder.

"The hour is late, Saunder," said Ajantis, "we should rest and leave in the morning."

Saunder shook his head, "Our only chance at getting Rieltar is to catch him off-guard and the only way to do that is to travel faster than the news of what has happened here."

Imoen shook her head, "It's going to be a long night."

The party began to head upstairs, where they had left their packs, assuming that they would be staying there for the night. Kivan grabbed Saunder's shoulder as he was walking toward the stairs and pulled him aside.

"I doubt that Ajantis is finished," said the ranger.

Imoen had stopped on the stair and was listening to the two.

"He'll come around," said Saunder confidently, "he just needs to get used to this."

"Nonetheless, be wary of him. You may have to be more discriminating of your companions in the time to come."

"Even of you?"

Kivan blinked, which was as taken aback as Saunder had ever seen the elf.

"If need requires it, I can only hope that you will judge correctly."

"I trust you, Kivan, and value your advice, but Ajantis had proven himself in the past. He'll come around."

"I shall hope that you are correct," said Kivan, and gave Imoen a glance as he ascended the stairs.

"Things just keep getting more complicated don't they?" Imoen asked quietly.

"Yeah," said Saunder, "they do."


	30. Loyalty

_Loyalty_

His reverie broken, Kivan groaned as he sat up in bed. _Deheriana._ Kivan didn't look to his right, knowing that she wouldn't be there.

_And I thought I had moved beyond that._

There was a knock on the door. Looking out the window, Kivan saw that it was still dark outside and took a dagger from beneath his pillow before crossing over to the door.

Cracking the door open, Kivan recognized Imoen on the other side.

"Yes?"

"It's time," she said, "everyone is downstairs already, Saunder sent me to get you."

"Of course," said Kivan._ The raid._

"Are you alright?" Imoen asked when Kivan paused.

"Yes," Kivan replied stiffly, "tell them I'll be there shortly."

* * *

"_The Iron Throne will still be reeling from the loss of their mines here in Cloakwood,"_ Saunder had told his party. _"We have to strike them at their heart, in Baldur's Gate, before they can recover."_

Saunder and his party now stood before the doors of the Iron Throne Chapterhouse: a gothic black-stone tower that stretched up into the night until it was undistinguishable from the darkened sky, which hid the stars behind a veil of clouds.

Donning his helm and ungirding his hammer, Saunder marched toward the tower doors.

* * *

"So these bandits were trying to ambush the caravan. Their leader, this big ugly hobgoblin, says he's gonna kill us all if we don't give up the iron. Of course, I wasn't about to let my reputation as a merchant guard captain be sullied. So I immediately lopped of the hobgoblin's head and the rest ran for their lives."

"How long ago was that?" asked the merchant named Ileana, whose attention the door-guard was struggling to keep.

"About two months ago."

"That's interesting, I was here just two months ago and I could swear I saw you guarding this very door."

The guard stiffened, "Well, this is just something I do part-time. I am a guard captain."

"Of course you are, I happen to be a duchess as well as a merchant." Ileana smirked, "Keep trying, sooner or later, it's bound to work on someone." The merchant walked away, relishing the sight of the door-guard's dropped jaw.

But her satisfaction turned to shock when the doors burst open and she found herself facing a pair of armored men with bared weapons. Hearing the sound of a sword clearing its scabbard, Ileana turned to see the door-guard running to meet the intruders.

One of the armored men strode forward to meet the guard, who brought his sword down in an overhand chop. The armored man deflected the attack off his shield and then bashed the guard's knee with a blow from his hammer. With a cry, the guard fell to the ground, cradling his wounded leg.

"Tell me where I can find Rieltar and Sarevok," the armored man demanded. The guard could only groan and mumble incoherently. "Tell me!"

"They're not here," said Ileana.

The armored man rounded on the merchant, walked toward her. Ileana could only just see his brown eyes through the helm's visor.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. There are a few Iron Throne officers on the top floor. Maybe they can tell you." The armored man nodded, and gestured for the others to follow him as he headed for the stairs.

* * *

"Best to keep our weapons unsheathed; we may run in to more guards." said Saunder to the others as they crossed the wide foyer of the Iron Throne tower and ascended the broad stairway on the right side of the building.

Soon, Saunder's suspicions proved to be correct. The second floor was a gallery looking down on the floor below and, once Saunder stepped off the stair, an arrow flew from the far balcony and glanced off his helm. After deflecting another arrow with his shield, Saunder stepped aside to let Kivan off the stair.

The ranger already had an arrow nocked and quickly removed one of the enemy archers. Imoen came up next and, although her arrow missed, it still inspired the remaining two archers to take cover. With the archers cowed, Ajantis and Branwen stepped onto the second floor.

Looking to the far staircase, Saunder saw a number of Iron Throne Guards coming down.

"Watch those archers Kivan," said Saunder as he stood and moved toward the far staircase, Ajantis and Branwen following close behind.

The archers across the gallery tried to shoot the easy targets but the first fell to Kivan's arrow while the second was taken down by Imoen's magic missiles. Four guards had descended the stairs by the time Saunder and the others were close. These were not like the guard that had tried to refuse them entry at the front door. Clad in mail, they had the look of well-paid mercenaries and approached their adversaries in formation, two in the front with swords and shields and, behind them, two with spears.

Branwen was the first to strike, bashing her mace against her opponent's shield and barely avoiding the spear of the man behind him. But while the man directly in front of Branwen was recovering from her mace blow, Ajantis made use of his great sword's reach and thrust it through the mercenary's chest. Saunder deflected his opponent's attack with his shield and then rained a blow on his foe's head, the spike on the backside of the hammer easily perforating his helm. Moving past him, Saunder struck the spearman, sending him over the balustrade and down to the floor below. Branwen bashed aside the spear of her own opponent and finished the man with her mace when she was in too close for the guard to defend himself.

Imoen had been watching the battle on Saunder's side of the gallery when she heard steps descending the stair directly behind her. Whirling around, she saw half a dozen men running down the steps. Without time to look, Imoen retrieved one of the wands she had collected and triggered it, then recoiled when a fireball erupted from the wand and struck the stair. The blast was blinding and scattered splinters of wood and, Imoen realized distastefully, charred pieces of the former guards.

When the dust settled, Imoen found herself looking at the crumbled remains of a staircase and was certain she had burned off at least one of her own eyebrows.

* * *

While the next two floors of the building were deserted, Saunder found the reception he was expecting on the fifth floor. Six men stood at the other end of the room. A quick appraisal revealed two men wearing leather armor and carrying war hammers, who Saunder figured to be priests, two heavily armored warriors, one of whom carried a sword and shield while the other held a crossbow with a halberd across his back, a robed man and another in leathers, who leaned casually against a column. The room was wide and spacious, with only a pair of columns as decor.

_More mercenaries, _realized Saunder, _and not the rank and file variety by their manner._

"Hello," said Saunder, "I understand that at least one of you could tell me where to find Rieltar or Sarevok."

The warrior bearing the crossbow responded, "We know who you are, Saunder. Your meddling ends here. I, Zhalimar Cloudwulfe, will see to that personally."

"Save your threats," said Branwen, "everyone else who has made like claims is dead now."

"That is because those you faced before us were fools, as you are," continued Zhalimar, his tone resonant, "Those before us were weak, as you are. Those before us were not Zhalimar, or Gardush, or Naaman, or Diyab, or Aasim, or Alai."

"He certainly likes the sound of his own voice," murmured Imoen.

"They all do," Branwen returned, hefting her mace.

The man's tone dropped, "Those before us are dead, as you will be. So it has been decreed, so it shall be done. So orders Sarevok!"

Seeing one of the men in leathers begin to murmur the words of a spell, Kivan quickly fired an arrow, striking the man's shoulder and interrupting his casting. Branwen began casting a spell of her own but was struck by a bolt from Zhalimar's crossbow and stumbled back.

"Tend to her her!" Saunder ordered Ajantis, and rushed to confront his enemies.

The two priests were the closest and Saunder reached them as one was attempting to heal the other with the wounded shoulder. Saunder promptly struck down the healer then blocked a sloppy attack from the wounded priest before using his shield to bash the man's face. His enemy stunned, Saunder perforated his chest with Ashideena's spike.

Turning about, Saunder saw a swordsman coming toward him and, a moment too late, saw a robed man behind the warrior finish casting a spell. A moment later, Saunder found that he could not move. The warrior brandished his sword as he drew closer to Saunder.

* * *

After using his limited healing abilities to help Branwen, Ajantis turned to see Saunder frozen in place and rushed to his aid. A warrior was already pulling back his weapon to run Saunder through. But Ajantis' charge was cut short when he found himself staring down the wrong end of Zhalimar's crossbow.

As the crossbowman was pulling the trigger, another man tackled him. At first Ajantis thought it was Saunder, then recognized the warrior he was sure had been about to kill Saunder.

Ajantis flinched when an arrow flew past his ear, then followed its path to see it embed itself in the mage's forehead. Sparing only enough time for a glance, Ajantis saw that Saunder was still under the influence of the spell. Turning back, Ajantis watched Zhalimar grapple with the man who had been his ally. _This must be Imoen's work, a charm spell of some kind._

Zhalimar promptly ended the grapple by pulling a dagger from his belt and thrusting it past the other man's gorget and into his throat. Blood drenched the front of Zhalimar's armor as he stood and pulled his halberd from his back, lowered it toward Ajantis.

The paladin brought his great sword to a middle guard and, when Zhalimar made a sweeping motion with his halberd, turned his weapon into a downward parry and, with the halberd blade hooked, brought his weapon back up, effectively placing himself inside Zhalimar's guard. Unable to use his halberd to any advantage, Zhalimar head-butted Ajantis, but as the paladin staggered back he wrenched the halberd from Zhalimar's grasp.

Cursing, Zhalimar snatched his fallen comrade's long sword from the ground and fled up the stairs behind him before Ajantis could regain his balance. With the immediate threat gone, Ajantis turned back to where Branwen had fallen to see that Kivan was ministering a potion to her.

"How is she?" Ajantis asked.

"Fine," said Branwen, as she attempted to stand only to collapse again.

"She needs more potions," said Kivan as he drew another flask filled with a frothy blue liquid. Two similar empty flasks already lay by the injured priestess.

"Don't waste any more of those potions on me," Branwen protested, "I just need to stretch my legs." Kivan and Imoen both placed hands on Branwen's shoulders to keep her from attempting to stand again and she responded with a string of muttered curses. "Let me kill Zhalimar," she insisted, "that should be a good enough warmup."

Ajantis frowned, looking to the stair. The paladin didn't like the idea of Zhalimar still being unchecked. Ajantis glanced to Saunder's still frozen form.

"Imoen?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to dispel magics?"

Imoen glanced at Saunder and bit her lower lip. "I don't have it memorized yet but I think I have it written down some where." Retrieving her spell book, Imoen started thumbing through the pages.

Ajantis turned back to the door leading upstairs. He thought of closing it, but that would give Zhalimar the opportunity to wait in the doorway and ambush the party when they reopened it.

"Found it," said Imoen energetically. She slowly walked toward Saunder and began murmuring the words to the spell.

A moment later there was the sound of a coil snapping and Saunder straightened, shook his head.

"I hate those bloody hold spells," he muttered, then turned toward Imoen. "You used a domination spell on the warrior that was about to kill me didn't you?" he asked.

Imoen nodded proudly, "And I used him to save Ajantis."

Saunder made a quick appraisal of the room and decided to keep his hammer ungirt.

"I don't see Zhalimar's body."

"He fled up the stairs," said Ajantis, "we should pursue him now."

"Wait a moment," said Saunder looking around Ajantis to see Branwen, who sat up against the wall by the stairs, eyes closed with the retrieved pieces of a bloody arrow lying beside her. Kivan stood over her, and gave a slight nod to Saunder, a subtle indication that she would be okay.

"But those stairs just lead to the roof don't they?" said Imoen, "If there's no other way down from there we can just bar the door and make sure he stays up there."

"The longer we leave him alone the more likely he is to come up with some mischief," said Ajantis.

"Agreed," said Saunder. The paladin took a brief look over his group before speaking again, "Myself, Ajantis and Imoen will deal with Zhalimar. Kivan, stay here and watch Branwen."

* * *

Saunder was the first up the stairs with Ajantis looking over his shoulder. The spiral stairs were narrow, and Saunder understood that Zhalimar could be around any one of the stair's numerous bends.

At length the stair ended, revealing the flat rooftop of the black-stone tower. A cold breeze wafted through the open door way. Cautiously stepping through, Saunder noted that the battered door was barely hanging on its hinges. Saunder looked quickly in each direction, expecting an ambush, but failed to see anyone. Ajantis followed Saunder while Imoen hung back slightly.

One Saunder and Ajantis had both cleared the door, a figure dropped down from the structure housing the door. Landing just behind Ajantis, Zhalimar placed his long sword across the paladin's neck and began to pull.

Hearing the blade begin to tear through his leather gorget. Ajantis dropped his great sword and vainly tried to pry the weapon away from his neck. As the last thread of the gorget tore Ajantis felt the death-cold steel on his neck.

Suddenly, Zhalimar's grip faltered and Ajantis was able to push the blade away. Turning to face his enemy, Ajantis saw the warrior stagger, Imoen's dagger embedded in his backplate. Despite his injury, the warrior struck out violently when Ajantis attempted to disarm him.

But while Zhalimar was focused on Ajantis, Saunder rushed toward him and bashed Zhalimar with his shield, knocking the already disoriented warrior onto his back. Saunder stood poised over Zhalimar, hammer ready to deliver the deathblow.

Zhalimar backed up against the fence and tore his helm off. The warrior was breathing heavily and sweat beaded on his brow. But Zhalimar's countenance remained scornful, his baleful eyes locked with Saunders.

A moment later, Saunder brought his hammer down, crushing Zhalimar's skull and leaving his face an unrecognizable mess of blood, flesh and bone. Saunder winced as he girt his hammer and turned away, found himself facing Ajantis' steely eyes.

"Does Bhaal's blood hold even greater sway over you than before?" asked Ajantis angrily, "that man was unarmed."

Saunder's brow furrowed, "Look at his hand!" he exclaimed, pointing to Zhalimar's left hand, which was hidden from Ajantis' view.

When the older paladin moved to a better vantage, he saw that the dead warrior's hand was poised over the hilt of the dagger he had used to kill his own comrade earlier.

"I would appreciate it," Saunder began, "if you would not presume to know my intentions."

"Your heritage demands that I pay close attention to–"

"My heritage? If you are going to be doubting me at every turn I don't know how I can trust you."

"Trust me? After everything I've done for you?" asked Ajantis, baffled.

"You haven't done anything for Saunder that hasn't somehow benefitted you," started Imoen, "Besides, ever since you found out Saunder was a Child of Bhaal you've been looking for ways to blame him."

Ajantis rounded on Imoen, "What are you suggesting?"

"Well, you told us that the reason you're helping us is because you need to accomplish some great deed so you could become a full member of the Order. Would bringing a dangerous Bhaalspawn to justice qualify?"

Ajantis pointed his finger at Imoen and threateningly stalked toward her, "Now you're out of–"

A hand seized Ajantis' shoulder and flung him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Propping himself up on his elbows, Ajantis saw that Saunder had put himself in front of Imoen.

"I think you are the one who is out of line," said Saunder.

"So this is the shape of things to come, is it?" asked Ajantis. The paladin stood with a groan, well aware that Saunder was staring levelly at him.

His words met with silence, Ajantis only nodded as he picked up his sword and continued to stare at Saunder.

"I am disappointed, Saunder. Truly, I am."

"Save your prattling," muttered Saunder.

Ajantis sighed, started for the staircase, then stopped at the threshold.

"I want you to know that I will continue my investigation of the Iron Throne. Whatever you may think of my motives, I intend to see this through to the end."

"Then let's try to stay out of each other's ways," said Saunder.

Saunder took a deep breath as Ajantis disappeared down the stairwell and removed his helm, moved to the railing. Beneath him, the street lamps of Baldur's Gate lit the facades of the buildings and wharf. Only the roiling ocean beneath the wharf was covered in shadow.

Imoen glanced at chunk of meat and bone that was Zhalimar's head before turning to Saunder.

"I think we should go back down," she said. "I don't like this place, bad things have happened here."

"Considering the owners of this place I wouldn't be surprised," said Saunder. A moment later: "You can go down, I'll search Zhalimar's body."

"Alright," said Imoen, hesitating, "don't take too long."

Looking at the street below Saunder couldn't help but think that it seemed like a long way down.

* * *

With the mercenaries dead and the building otherwise vacant, there was no one left to question, forcing Saunder and his party to resort to searching every nook and cranny for any letters or journals that could provide some hint as to where Rieltar and Sarevok had gone. Branwen was still incapacitated, slowing the search that much more.

* * *

Imoen surreptitiously stepped into the room Kivan was searching and started looking through the contents of one of the chests, her interest obviously feigned.

"So, what's wrong?" asked Imoen.

"What do you speak of?" Kivan asked, irritated.

"Well, you're even more quiet than you usually are. And you've been scowling a lot too. Something's bothering you."

"One of our companions is incapacitated while another has left and we have no idea where Rieltar or Sarevok have gone. I feel that I am well-justified to be 'bothered.'"

"You know what I mean. You were acting like this when I knocked on your door. Say, no one did anything nasty to you while you were asleep, right?"

Kivan put down the letter he was reading to glare at Imoen.

"Well you did look kind of spooked."

"If I answer will you cease your questioning?"

Imoen leaned in, her eyes intent.

"Many years ago I lived in the forest of Shilmista, among other elves. My wife was Deheriana. On the fifth day of Eleint, Deheriana and I were on a journey that took us far from Shilmista. During the trip, we were ambushed and captured by Tazok."

"The bandit leader?"

"The same."

Kivan's face grew dark.

"He did unspeakable things to Deheriana, and then he killed her."

"I'm so–"

"I see her, every night. Sometimes I see her as Tazok brutalized her. Sometimes I see her as she was in Shilmista, but it is always painful for me. Now, is your curiosity satisfied?"

Imoen gulped, looked back down to the chest she was sifting through and a long, uncomfortable silence followed.

"I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories for you, Kivan," Imoen said at length, "I just thought I could help. Sometimes it does help to talk."

"Sometimes," Kivan admitted.

Imoen finished searching the chest and, finding nothing, closed the lid.

"I'm going to try another room," she said quietly.

"Imoen," started Kivan. That alone was enough to stop Imoen, the ranger rarely addressed anyone by name.

"When I feel like talking, I will tell you."

Imoen smiled, "Thanks, Kivan," she said, "I'll listen."

* * *

It wasn't long before the party completed the search, finding nothing more than a note from Sarevok ordering Zhalimar and his men to beset Saunder's party. Saunder wasn't sure where the next break would be, but it clearly was somewhere other than the Iron Throne Headquarters. At least the search had given Branwen time to come around on her own.

The building seemed to be completely abandoned. Only when the party walked out the front door did they get their surprise: seven armored men with drawn swords faced them and the party hurriedly drew their own weapons.

"Stand down!" the armored man in front shouted to his men before sheathing his own sword. Then Saunder noticed what he should have recognized immediately, the red-plumed helms of the Flaming Fist.

"We couldn't be sure who would be coming out of this building but had reason to suspect it would be you, Saunder. I am Sergeant Caedmon of the Flaming Fist and I have orders to personally escort you to Duke Eltan. You are not under arrest, but the Duke said it would be in your best interest to meet him."

_A duke wants to see us? _thought Saunder, surprised,_ Well, we didn't find any leads on where to find Rieltar or Sarevok, maybe the duke knows something_.

"We'll come," said Saunder.

"A wise choice," said the sergeant, and turned to face his men. "Corporal Fane, the squad is yours, by order of Duke Eltan this building is restricted. Detain anyone who attempts to leave and allow entry to no one."

After the two mercenaries saluted one another, Sergeant Caedmon led Saunder and his party away from the Iron Throne compound.

* * *

"You can trust him," the sergeant said quietly after the party had been walking for some time.

"What?" asked Saunder.

"You can trust Duke Eltan, and his second, Scar."

"That sounds like a very small number of trustworthy people, just what is going on here?"

"Many things are just wrong," Sergeant Caedmon replied, "tainted iron, increased garrisons in Beregost, threats exchanged between Amn and Baldur's Gate. And people here have been acting strangely. Recently, Scar led a raid with some of his trusted men on the Seven Suns, a mercantile organization, and found that nearly all of the merchants had been replaced by dopplegangers. Fortunately, they've managed to keep their findings quiet."

"What are dopplegangers?" asked Branwen.

"They are grey-skinned humanoids with long, dagger-like nails, able to take whatever shape of they want," said Kivan.

"It's true," said Caedmon, "I saw the bodies myself. Be careful who you trust in this city."

"And why are you telling us all of this?" asked Saunder, "Why do you trust us?"

"I trust you because Duke Eltan and Scar seem to think you can be trusted and we have heard much of your exploits from reliable sources. From killing the mad priest Bassilus to your escapades in Nashkel and Cloakwood. Your actions speak loudly and people are noticing, the Grand Dukes included."

* * *

The Flaming Fist compound was a cold, drafty fortress. The entrance hall was lined on both sides with cells, most of them occupied.

"We have all the dregs of the city in here," said Caedmon, "The past few months have been worse than any I've seen. With caravans having a hard time getting in a lot of people have lost their livelihood. When that happens, good people get desperate."

Sergeant Caedmon led the party past the jail and into a room that seemed to be the hub of the fortress.

"Take those stairs all the way up and you'll find Duke Eltan's quarters. He said he would be waiting for you."

* * *

Cautiously, Saunder walked up the final steps and stood on the landing of Duke Eltan's quarters.

"I'm in here, come."

Turning, Saunder saw an older man sitting at a table through a doorway. The Duke stood to meet Saunder and shook his hand. Eltan was taller than Saunder had at first thought and bore a patrician countenance.

"I'm afraid I don't have enough seats for all of you, but you may help yourselves," said the Duke, as he took his seat again.

Imoen was hardly shy about taking one of the three remaining chairs. When no one else moved, Saunder took one as well. That left Kivan and Branwen staring at one another.

"Go ahead," said Kivan.

"No, you take it," replied Branwen.

"I prefer to stand. Besides, you were wounded earlier, you should conserve your strength."

"Are you saying I'm weak?"

"Will one of you," interrupted Saunder, "just take the damned seat. It has been a very long night and I do not intend to spend the rest of it listening to you argue."

Branwen gave Kivan a fierce glare before sitting down.

Saunder rubbed his temple and spoke to Duke Eltan, "Please forgive my companions and my lack of formality. I'm not used to dealing with nobles and I am very tired."

After storming the Cloakwood mines, marching to Baldur's Gate without rest, staying at the inn only long enough for cover of darkness, storming the Iron Throne, and then walking to the Flaming Fist Compound, Saunder was feeling the strain of having fewer than six hours of sleep over the past three nights.

"I can see that," said the Duke, "I will make this brief then. I would have contacted you earlier but we had only just become aware that you entered the city. We know that the Iron Throne has a hand in all of the troubles that have been happening but don't have enough information to put the puzzle together."

"I can help you there," said Saunder, "Rieltar and Sarevok, the leaders of the Iron Throne, created the iron shortage by having their lackey, a half-orc named Mulahey, poison the ore of the Nashkel Mines while funding another lackey, Tazok, to organize bandits to prey on any iron caravans in the region. All the while, Davaeorn, a mage, was running a secret mine in the Cloakwood forest with slave labor."

"So far, I, and the three people you see with me in addition to one other who is no longer with us, have cleared out the Nashkel Mines of kobolds, crashed the bandit camp, freed the slaves of the Cloakwood mine and flooded those mines so no one can exploit them again. After we found out Rieltar and Sarevok were in charge of everything, we spent a day and a half walking here and then found out they weren't home. Instead we found a half dozen ill-tempered substitutes and no leads on where our two quarries have gone."

Eltan nodded, "I thank you for telling me all of this. Now, there is one thing I can tell you. I do not know where Sarevok is but my agents have told me that Rieltar left Baldur's Gate yesterday for Candlekeep."

In that instant, Saunder's fatigue disappeared and his eyes were wide open. Imoen also straightened up in her seat.

"Candlekeep, why?"

"He is going to finalize a deal with several officers of the Red Shields."

"We have to go then," said Saunder, shooting to his feet.

"Sit down," said the Duke, his voice commanding respect. Saunder found himself firmly in his chair before he realized it.

"If there is going to be a fight," said Branwen, "we will be too exhausted to fight it by the time we get there. We need rest, Saunder. Even you need rest."

"How long is Rieltar going to be in Candlekeep?" asked Saunder.

"Several more days," said Duke Eltan, "you have plenty of time to make the journey and confront Rieltar well-rested."

Saunder nodded, but still seemed more than willing to bolt off at that moment.

Duke Eltan stood and walked over to his desk, retrieved a book and set it in front of Saunder. "You will need this," said Eltan. "The price of entry into Candlekeep is a rare book. This one should suffice."

Saunder took the book and carefully placed it in his satchel.

"Thank you, Duke Eltan."

* * *

Since returning to the inn, Saunder had spent several hours tossing and turning in his bed. Taking deep breaths and trying to clear his mind had also failed to bring the paladin any measure of sleep. Tired of trying to sleep, Saunder got out of bed and made for the common room.

The common room was nearly empty, with all but the most dedicated tavern-goers gone. With surprise, Saunder saw Imoen at the bar and took the stool beside her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Imoen shook her head, "I was hoping this might help," said Imoen, motioning to the half-empty mug in front of her, "seems like it worked for that fellow." Imoen indicated the sleeping man next to her.

"I think it took more than half a mug to get him there," said Saunder.

"Probably," Imoen shrugged, "do you have any idea what we're going to do once we defeat Rieltar?

"No," Saunder admitted, "I don't think much about it."

"Maybe we should," murmured Imoen, "we don't exactly know any 'honest' trades."

"Wherever we end up, I doubt we'll be merchants."

Imoen chuckled, "Probably not, but it's pretty amusing to picture you trying to run a store. Heheh, you never even figured out the weight system. 'How many ounces are in a pound again?'"

Saunder smiled, "Well, if it's employment you want, Puff-Gutts might–"

"Don't. Start," interrupted Imoen, "What about that Order place that Ajantis was always talking about? Have you thought about going there?"

"I don't know," said Saunder, "Ajantis encouraged me to seek the Order out before but, after he found out about my heritage . . ." Saunder trailed off. "Well, I don't think I can count on a recommendation from him anymore."

"He's just a squire, I doubt his word counts for much," Imoen patted Saunder on the shoulder, "You're a good guy, if those Shiny Heart people can't see that then they're not very good paladins."

"Maybe," said Saunder, suppressing a chuckle, "but if I joined the Order what would you do?"

"I'd figure something out," said Imoen, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"That's what I was afraid you would say," returned Saunder. "I wouldn't put you in that position though. You've promised to stay with me and I promise you the same. Whatever comes our way we've got a better chance–"

A snore interrupted Saunder and he looked beside himself to see Imoen sprawled over the counter like the man next to her.

Saunder sighed; "Sleep well Im."

* * *

**Well, I have to admit that this story has achieved the disappointing ratio of 1 review to 1 chapter. That being said, if you've read this far, chances are you have formed some kind of opinion or criticism so please, let me know. All feedback is appreciated, even negative feeback, if it is constructive.**


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